


Induratize

by orphan_account



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Underfell, Apathy and Depression, Basically every monster living in the Underfell AU has issues, M/M, Masturbation, Minor Character Death, Papyrus Has Issues, Sans Has Issues, Slow Build, suicide ideation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-06-01 07:20:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6508276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Underfell, slowly developing Fontcest) After a near-death experience, both Papyrus and Sans are left wondering, not only about their relationship as brothers, but about the world they live in as a whole.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harden the heart

**Author's Note:**

> Finally we can get this story started. I've been working on it for forever. 
> 
> Anyway, this is actually just an expansion of the Underfell version I've written about in my oneshot 'The Games We Play', as well as my take on the entire Underfell AU as a whole.

_Induratize - to harden the heart towards a person, feeling, or even just the entire concept of love._

* * *

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Sans knows things used to be different.

There was a time, long ago, when their lives were not resigned to mere survival of the fittest.

And he's not only talking about the underground in general, but also his own life.

He remembers vaguely a house in the big city, a safe heaven amidst the swirling chaos of the capital. He remembers going to school and playing with his brother. He remembers the feeling of being at ease.

But then Sans considers these thoughts more thoroughly and comes to the conclusions they can't be real. Rather, they must be some weird fantasy his mind conjured up for god knows what reason.

He remembers these things, but they are wrong. Vague and distorted. Like something vital is missing from them. Or someone, because surely if ever such a place existed, Sans and Papyrus had not lived there alone, as children.

And since as far as Sans can recall, it has always been just the two of them, these memories must be wrong. He would ask Papyrus about it, but the cons of such an exchange far outweighed the pros, so he rather not.

Besides, the capital is reserved for monsters of standing. Monsters with money or assets or anything really that could be considered worthy enough to the king to keep them close and secure.

Anybody else would have to deal with living elsewhere, smaller towns like Snowdin, or the general area of Waterfall. Or maybe, if you were really lucky, you could make it to Hotland.

And these areas are not fun places to be.

Resources are scant, food and money are always in low supply. The black market thrives in places such as these.

As does robbery and murder.

Gaining a LV is celebrated in the same fashion as a birthday might, even if you know it means there is somebody else having to organize a dust scattering.

Sans ponders these things as he sits at his sentry station, chair tipped back and feet resting idly on the wooden front.

There really is no point to these thoughts, he chides himself. Their world can't be changed, there is nothing somebody like him can do to change things, even if he desires to.

Which he really doesn't. Running around with his 1 HP is already enough of a risk, thank you very much.

No need to play the martyr and really turn himself into living target practice.

Still, Sans can't always suppress the nagging feeling that there should be more to their lives than just the continuous kill or be killed mentality everybody seems stuck in.

So, instead, he opts for apathy. Always a safe choice.

He doesn't care about the lives of others. He doesn't even care about his own life.

He doesn't care who dies next.

One of the regulars at Grilby's whom he maybe has started regarding as, if not friends, at least begrudging acquaintances? No problem.

That lady behind the door whom never fails to amuse him? Whatever.

His brother, the only constant thing throughout his rather shitty life? Sure.

Himself? Why the heck not, it might even be considered a relief by now.

But that's not true, is it? While Sans is an excellent actor, he can not fool himself. Somewhere in the back of his mind he still cares.

And this both frightens and comforts him.

* * *

Sans carefully removes his feet from the sentry station and rights himself.

That had been what, a full hour, of sitting at his post? He is entitled to a break by now, if he should say so himself.

The short skeleton considers taking a shortcut, but decides against it. It is a nice snowless day, cold but with next to no wind, making it feel slightly warmer than is usual.

As in far as Snowdin ever feels warm anyway.

He starts walking in the direction of town, slippers crunching softly against snow covered earth. He looks at his feet while walking and wonders if he should have burgers or fries today.

It all tastes the same after being smothered in mustard anyway, but it's the thought that counts.  
The thought that he still has some control over his life.

The apathy has been getting worse lately. More and more it feels to Sans as if nothing matters anymore.

If it weren't for fear of his brother's verbal outbursts, he would most likely not leave the house all together.

It is this detachment which allows his mind to wander. And a wandering mind is likely to get you killed.

There is a sound up ahead that catches Sans's attention at the last possible second. He manages to duck behind a tree just as somebody else comes barreling down the path he just occupied, at running speed.

A speed which Sans knows is synonymous with running for your life.

The Woshua stumbles and slips on the frozen ground, littered with small patches of ice concealed under the powdery snow.

For a monster that is not used to such terrain, it's a true nightmare to navigate.

It looses its footing and falls hard, actually spilling some water from its back. It tries desperately to get up, legs flailing wildly in a feeble attempt to gain sure footing again, but ends up only looking like a pathetic lump of soon-to-be-dead monster.

Which is exactly what it is.

Sans finds he can't look away as the thing is instantly set upon by its pursuer, something large and bipedal. Some type of weapon is swiftly brought down upon the Woshua's head, crushing it immediately.

It lets out a feeble sound, caught somewhere between a yelp and a groan, before dispersing into dust.

It is almost captivating to look at. How the body disintegrates, starting at the edges of the wound, falling apart into little particles of gray colored powder. It only takes a moment for the corpse to be gone completely, leaving behind a neat pile of remains.

It is at that exact instant that Sans realizes who the attacking monster is.

Dogaressa? But if she's here then where is?

"Quite the little sadist, aren't you."

Something shoves Sans hard against the back and he flails forward, narrowly avoiding making a similar tumble as the recently expired Woshua just moments before.

He manages to keep upright, but is now standing painfully exposed, out in the open. It makes him slightly nervous, though nothing in his face or demeanor shows it.

"Watching us offing this thing because you're too weak to take part in the fun yourself?" Dogamy huffs from behind him, a slight growl in the back of his throat, as there always seems to be.

Dogaressa has looked up from her kill and is regarding Sans with minor disdain, as if he is no more than a speck of dirt on her boot.

Which is perfectly fine by Sans himself, thank you very much. He'd much rather be viewed as unobtrusive, a mild annoyance at best. It's a safe position to be in. An alive position.

But now both dog monsters have their eyes focused on him, as if inwardly debating what their next move should be, and the skeleton is painfully aware he probably won't like their conclusion.

The rush of EXP after a kill makes monsters anxious. Violent. It can make them do dangerous things they might normally wouldn't. Like an addiction, they need another fix.

He shoves both hands in his hoodie pockets, flashing an easy smile that shows of his golden tooth, and looks as casual as somebody that just witnessed a murder could look.

Which is pretty darn casual, since it wasn't the first time he saw something like that. It just was the first time he got so stupidly found out.

"Really, though, calling me a sadist?" He ventures. Maybe talking will distract them from getting any bright ideas about free EXP. "You're the ones who just killed the poor fucker. And unprompted I dare say."

The married dogs look at each other for a moment, and than burst out in hearty laughter, that just sounds plain grating to Sans's ear holes. He resists the urge to clasp his hands over them for obvious reasons.

"Unprompted?" Dogaressa gestures at the little heap of dust, still undisturbed by the lack of wind. "The little shit was a fucking thief. Thinks he can steal from us and make a run for it? We could smell his soapy stink from miles away."

"He even gave us a good run for our money." Dogamy contemplates out loud, looking vaguely pleased. "We've been chasing this thing all the way from Waterfall."

Sans feels an odd rush of emotion, finding himself both impressed at the Woshua's flight attempt, and also immensely disappointed at its sense of self-preservation.

Stealing from royal guards? That's a death wish waiting to be full-filled right there.

"Sounds like he wasn't the smartest guy around." He hears himself say.

The looks he is getting are making him the slightest bit nervous by now. There haven't been many situations in which Sans has felt truly threatened up until now, but this is certainly deteriorating into one fast.

He is used to living with an always present sense of mortality, knowing something could go very wrong, very fast any moment. But there haven't been many instances in which there was actual fear for his life.

If things seriously go to hell, he can always bet on a shortcut, or even pull out the metaphorical big guns. The ones that nobody else, not even his brother, know about.

Sans would very much like to avoid having to resort to those, for various reasons...

He leans forward slightly, allowing his magic to run through his bones and start peeling at the rips in space and time, unfolding them in such a way that allows him to step through.

Rough hands grab him from behind, claws curling into the dun-colored fur at the back of his hoodie harshly. They pull back, making him stumble again.

The break in his concentration makes Sans's magic retract, the pent up power manifesting itself as a bright-red glow in his left eye instead.

His attackers mistake this for a sign of fear and start laughing again.

"You know." Dogamy is right by his face now, hands tightening as if Sans would even try to escape. He won't, it would be useless. "I always wondered why everyone suffers your presence so easily. Such a weak piece of filth allowed to run around, as if it has any right to live."

Sans feels incredibly tempted to ask what one has to do to deserve the right to live, but decides against it. This might not be the time to be a smart ass.

Especially as he can see Dogaressa making her way towards them, axe dragging slightly behind her and still coated with a thin layer of Woshua dust.

"It's almost a wonder nobody has decided to do this sooner..." The monster behind him says, and Sans is inclined to agree with him.

He can feel his magic building inside him, almost making him shiver in intensity. A strong will to live, pure survival instinct just waiting to be set free.

It would not be ideal, directing magic with his impeded arm movements, as Dogamy is now grasping his shoulders roughly and pushing downward, almost making his knees buckle out from under him.

It would be a jumbled mess of magic that is as likely to get him killed as anything the dogs could dish out.

It is a bet, with his life being the prize. But Sans is fine with being a gambling man.

Dogaressa is raising her axe, fatal path downward already calculated to split his skull clean in two. Sans feels his magic pulling on his soul, threatening to burst it at the seams.

Time seems to slow down to an unbearably slow pace.

Magic travels the air, strong enough to force all three of them on the ground.

Through the rushing in his ears caused by his own powers still being pent up inside his body barely restrained, Sans dimly hears the other two monsters whine in pain. He is aware of a dull sting on the top of his head himself, but finds it overwhelmed by the immense feeling of relief flooding his system.

Maybe he wouldn't have to resort to using his powers after all.

"Are you alright?" Somebody is grasping his arm, almost holding it in a death grip, but not with ill-intent, but rather in something resembling worry.

He blinks twice, his magic finally beginning to calm down and allowing him to take stock of the situation.

Dogamy and Dogaressa are some distance away now, seemingly recovering from a harsh blow. There are small cuts littering them, minuscule carvings in the skin with dust particles dwindling off them.

It's almost fascinating to watch, especially while you are still trying very hard to compose your racing thoughts after an almost death experience.

But the grip on his arm is still there, now accompanied by tugging. "Sans, answer me, you ass! Are you alright?"

Sans turns his head and looks at Papyrus. There is something there, on his brother's face. Something that should not be there and somehow makes Sans feel giddy but also incredulous.

He realizes there is something in that look which covets a reaction more extreme, but he ends up with an almost muted: "Just peachy." That lacks any of its regular humor.

The next moment his brother has released him and is yelling something, but since it is not directed at Sans, the skeleton finds himself concentrating on calming his raging magic down.

It takes a minute, but at last he feels relatively normal again and manages to push himself up on unsteady feet.

By now the dog duo is busy profusely apologizing to Papyrus for their transgression, almost graveling in the snow pleading his forgiveness.

"You are always complaining so much, we just assumed you didn't care about him." Sans hears Dogamy say, almost defiant in tone of voice.

He gets a red-colored bone attack hitting him straight in the muzzle for his efforts.

"I don't care about him." Papyrus confirms, voice as frigid as the snow beneath their feet. But there was a pause there. A pause that's probably unnoticeable for anyone that has not known Papyrus for as long as he has lived.

Sans notices.

And it fills him with the same dual feelings he noticed earlier, even more insistent now in their urgency that this is something vitally important.

Sans shoves it down harder.

"You should not touch, what is not yours to kill. If I see either of your faces again in the following 24 hours, I'll make you lick each others dust off my fucking boots." Papyrus makes some sort of gesture that could be interpreted as dismissing, and both dog monsters make quick work to get as far away as possible, as fast as possible.

His brother waits until both monsters have disappeared out of sight, staring at their backs until he can't see them anymore, then turns around, scuffing his feet in an irritated manner.

Sans can't help but notice Papyrus is standing in the expired Woshua's pile of dust, now scattered messily over the area.

He sure hopes the poor thing liked snow, because that's as much of a funeral as it was ever getting.

When he looks up to meet Papyrus's face, it is back to its normal expression, an even mix of disdain, annoyance and weariness.

"We're going home."


	2. If I'm alone, I cannot hate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is considerably shorter compared to the first one, but I felt it was better to cut off where I did. The next one will be longer again.

_So if you love me, let me go._  
_And run away before I know._  
_My heart is just too dark to care._  
_I can't destroy what isn't there._ _  
_

* * *

The door to their house makes an aggravating squeak as he opens it, and Papyrus reminds himself yet again that he really should get around to oiling the blasted thing.

But between making his famous lethal puzzles, training to keep his edge in battle AND taking care of all the housework, where was a skeleton to find the time?

He should ask Sans to clean or cook for a change, but really, the younger brother couldn't be bothered.

The smaller skeleton would screw it up with his usual laziness, and Papyrus would end up redoing all the work himself anyway.

Sans calls it his OCD. Papyrus calls it being thorough.

Besides, his brother's Lasagna making skills are about as crappy as his health.

The entire way home Sans had scuffed his feet, hands shoved deep down the pockets of that trademark jacket of his and shoulders notably slumped.

Papyrus didn't know why his sibling was upset. He didn't ask.

He had already slipped up enough for one day.

Had already felt the worry seize his soul in the skeleton equivalent of a heart-attack when he realized he was about to witness his only sibling's impending murder.

Had already heard the uncharacteristic trepidation clouding his voice when inquiring after the other's well-being.

Right now, he could only hope Sans had not noticed, or there would be a price to pay later.

Papyrus was sure his brother could think of a few gloating words to spit at him, ridicule him for his apparent weakness.

As if Papyrus's mind wasn't already chiding itself enough for his stupidity.

'What where you thinking, you fucking moron!' it was basically screaming at him. 'Why not open your arms to the enemy and offer them a hug of acceptance, while you are at it!'

But there was another voice inside his head too. A voice that had been there all along, but Papyrus had managed to drown in a need for survival and a fear for the dangers this world possessed.

A voice that he never really heeded, except once a day, when it told him that maybe he should pass by his brother's post while on patrol. You know, just to make sure the damned lazybones wasn't slacking off again.

A voice that had spurred him into a reckless attack, driven by pure instinct, which he would most likely get to regret later.

Because while the dog couple is certainly intimidated by him, afraid even, they were royal guards. They would go to Undyne.

And while Papyrus likes Undyne, mostly in a 'You are one badass motherfucker and I respect that' kind of way, he'd rather not deal with her when she was pissed. Nobody did.

Messing with the royal guards was the number one reason for getting her pissed. Being a royal guard yourself was not an exception to this rule.

It might even make things worse. Undyne does not abide mutiny.

With a weary sigh, Papyrus brings his thoughts back to the present. He would have to deal with her later.

He observes Sans sitting on the couch, still terribly slumped. the small skeleton didn't bother taking of his shoes when he came in, a wet snow track showing his route from door to sofa.

It irritates Papyrus endlessly, and he grasps onto the emotion tightly, glad to be back on familiar terrain.

"Sans, you're making a mess again." He scoffs, stalking over to his older brother and bumping his legs with his boot to catch the other's attention.

Sans looks up at him with the usual look of disinterest. Papyrus has noticed it getting progressively worse lately, more empty.

Somewhere, deep inside, this unnerves him.

He feels like saying more, like getting angry and shouting at his brother. Maybe then Sans would respond, get defiant or stubborn and yell something back.

Do anything besides sitting there like a kicked puppy.

But Sans breaks the silence first.

"Why?" He asks.

Papyrus crosses his arms over his chest, taking comfort in the gesture. He looks down at the smaller skeleton with a look that he expertly infuses with just the right amount of disdain to be convincing.

Fact is, he has been contemplating this exact question the entire walk home, and is yet to come up with a satisfactory answer that appeases the stronger inside voice calling him an idiotic, suicidal asshole for caring about the well-being of anybody besides himself.

But he also knew Sans would ask, which is why the reply comes easily.

"Because, getting dusted in such a pathetic way would really only reflect poorly on me." His voice is dripping contempt, seeing as it's not even an entirely untruthful answer. "You are a worthless excuse for a monster, Sans, but you are also my relative, meaning that if you're going to die you should at the very least do so fighting."

When Sans looks up, Papyrus is more than a little relieved to see that some fire has returned to those eyes, probably spurred on by the offhandedness of the excuse.

"Ah yes, of course. I would never want the oh-so great Papyrus to look bad because of me. Whatever was I thinking, boss." Sarcasm drips from every word, but at least he sounds like Sans is supposed to sound, which is good enough for Papyrus.

"You weren't thinking. You never are." The tall skeleton retorts coldly, turning away, but bumping his brother's legs again in the process, a bit harder than necessary. "I know you are weak, but the least you could do is put on some kind of death struggle, instead of just hanging there like a wet rag."

He looks at Sans from the corner of his eyes at his next words, looking for a reaction.

"It's almost as if you _want_ to die."

The older brother laughs, throwing his head back against the couch, and it's the most bitter sounding noise Papyrus has ever heard.

He wants to respond, but just then Sans winces and brings a hand to his skull, rubbing slightly. When his fingers come away, there is dust on them.

There is a tiny flare of panic in Papyrus's nonexistent gut, but he pushes it down hard and fast, instead raising a brow and laying a hand against the top of Sans's skull to bend it downwards.

Sans grunts softly in pain, but allows himself to be man-handled, going slightly tense at being touched.

There is a thin crack in the bone, a tiny denture in the skull with small fissures extending from the edges, like when you drop something heavy onto a patch of ice.

"Looks like she did get you." Papyrus observes softly, trying to ignore the insistent will to go find Dogaressa and kill her after all.

Sans hums a bit and shrugs as best as he can while leaned like he is. "Can't be too bad, if I'm not dead."

"The cracks will most likely get bigger as they heal. It will be a scar." Papyrus lets go and steps back, frowning at the carelessness on his brother's features.

"Oh, golly." The sarcasm is back tenfold, now that the distance between the two has increased again. "Guess I get to look as cool as you do, boss."

Papyrus looks disapproving at the notion, almost subconsciously passing a hand over his face and feeling the old crack running down his right eye socket.

His opponent had thought it a good idea to try and gouge Papyrus's eye out. Too bad skeletons don't have eyes.

It was only one of the many scars littering the younger brother's bones, but it was the most obvious one.

When he realizes what he's doing, Papyrus's drops his hand back to his side quickly, clenching the gloved fist slightly. He turns around to occupy his mind with something, anything else.

"Do I have to do everything around here." He huffs, when he sees Sans's rock prisoner lying on the side table.

It is actually just a stupid stone Sans brought in, calling it a pet.

When Papyrus had informed him they didn't do 'pets' Sans had re-assigned it with the title 'convict', and had even gone as far as to build a tiny prison out of sticks to contain it in.

Papyrus was pretty sure his brother did these kinds of things solely to get on his nerves, but he ended up feeding the blasted thing anyway.

But not too often. Starving your prisoners is an ideal way to get information out of them.

He walks over and brushes the dried bread crumbs off, seeing it as the perfect opening to flee to the kitchen when depositing them in the trash bin.

He's not even sure why. Why he wants to get himself away from his brother and this conversation as fast as possible.

When he returns to the living room, Sans is gone. Probably off to that hellhole of a bar he insists on spending his free time at. The mere thought makes Papyrus thankful to be lacking a stomach.

Instead, he stomps around the house doing anything and everything to distract himself from the bothersome thoughts regarding his brother's wellbeing.

He does not fix the squeaky door.

* * *

Something is off.

Something is off about Sans. About the way he talks, the look in his eyes and the slump in his shoulders. The way he tenses when you get too close to him.

Something is off about Papyrus. About the way he hesitates, the frown in his brow and the clench of his fist. The way he tenses when the thought of losing Sans crosses his mind.

Something is off, and neither brother wants to admit it.

Something is shifting, and it won't let itself be ignored.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to the people who commented. More comments are always appreciated ;)


	3. Sighs and Screams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tags got updated, check it out!
> 
> Somebody inquired after an update schedule: sadly my personal life is too hectic to have a set time to update. I do make it a rule to try and post at least one new chapter per week.

_Every time we lie awake._  
_After every hit we take_.  
_Every feeling that I get_.  
_But I haven't missed you yet._

_Only when I stop to think about it._

* * *

"Pass me another one, Grillby."

The elemental grumbles slightly in response, which in his case sounds more like a crackling fire, but slides another glass over the counter nonetheless.

It's a testament to how shitty Sans looks right now. He hasn't seen a mirror yet, but he doesn't need one to now he's a mess.

Tired, dirty, covered in half-melting snow. A fucking crack in his skull...

He really shouldn't even be walking around like this, a bare display of his fragility, but heck he really needed a drink. Or six.

Besides, Sans knows Grillby's is a good place to be. A safe haven compared to their Underground's daily hell.

The monsters that come here are just looking to drown their hardships under a hefty layer of alcohol, or whatever vice you prefer.

Greasy food, a nice smoke, gambling... or mustard, Sans's mind provides, nursing his glass of the off-yellowish substance.

In here, you can let a sliver of weakness show. They are all comrades in arms, or comrades in misfortune, at the very least.

No wonder Papyrus abhors this place.

And  _if_ a skirmish broke out, it was always short lived. Grillby does not tolerate fights in his establishment, mainly because the dust is such a pain to clean up.

Sans takes another sip, enjoying the burn caused by the spicy not-quite-liquid sliding down his throat.

Despite what some may think, skeletons do need to eat, to generate their magic, like any other monster. It just doesn't come back out, the way it does with some other species. The conversion from food to magic happens almost instantly.

As far as nourishment is concerned, though, condiments do a crappy job at providing anything useful.

But Sans revels in the tang it provides, the satisfying mushy texture.

To him, everything pretty much tastes like shit anyway.

Without realizing it, he has drained his glass again. He slides it back across the counter, shooting Grillby a meaningful look.

The bartender takes the glass away, but doesn't refill it, glaring at Sans slightly.

The small skeleton stares back, watching the purple flames reflect in the elemental's glasses.

Why does he even wear that thing, he doesn't have any eyes?

His phalanges trace a small groove in the dark wood of the counter, noting some dust stuck in the crevice.

Huh, he doesn't remember that being there yesterday?

Must have been a wild night.

Sans isn't sure whether to be grateful or disappointed he wasn't there to witness it, so he settles on indifference. Pretty much his default emotion by now.

When he looks up Grillby is still cleaning that same glass, cloth rubbing along the edges almost softly.

Sans realizes he's not getting another drink.

"You're an asshole, you know." He says, and there's a distinct hissing in response.

The bird monster on the other bar stool, who to Sans seems to be permanently glued there, looks up.

"Grillby says you need to pay your fucking tab." It helpfully translates and then, as if as an afterthought. "And you're an asshole too."

Sans shrugs carelessly. He isn't sure when paying his debt had gone from the 'definably soon' to 'maybe someday' priority, but it has.

Probably around the same time his increasing apathy started overpowering every other aspect of his life. Getting up and doing something productive has lost all appeal.

Well, Sans couldn't give less of a fuck.

And if he died before settling his tab, Grillby might go to Papyrus to look for a payment.

Now _there's_ an exchange Sans might pay to see.

After a few more moments of enjoying the relative peace the bar has to offer, the hiss of unnatural flames in the air and low talking sounds in the background, Sans gets up and heads for the door.

He could go home. Papyrus has most likely gone out again, ever diligent when it came to completing his patrols and pleasing Undyne, especially as he might now be on the captain's bad side... or well, worse side.

"Fucking suck-up." Sans mumbles to no-one in particular, pushing down the small sliver of worry in the back of his mind.

In the end, Sans is too antsy to go home yet. Instead, he takes a shortcut.

* * *

It's snowing again, small fluffy flakes adding to to the white carpet already reaching halfway up his boots.

Papyrus stamps through it, not caring if he's being loud or obvious.

Normally stealth is the preferable method of survival in their world, but right now Papyrus is dripping with irritation and malice.

Any monster would have to be a total idiot to try and approach him currently, and deserves to die for its stupidity.

On second thought, that might be exactly what he needed. Something to kill... or at the very least seriously maim.

And while Papyrus does not revel in ending someone's live the way some other inhabitants of the underground do, the tall skeleton has found fighting to be an excellent stress relief.

"Howdy, friend!"

Fucking hell, what was that just now about idiots approaching him?

The small golden flower looks up at him with that stupid innocent grin of its, and Papyrus has to refrain from stomping on it right there and then.

Instead, he shoots it a glare that could curdle milk, hoping the stupid weed would just leave him alone already.

Somehow, the flower takes his silence as sign of companionship, and it ducks underground again, only to pop up right next to his boot.

It has to crane its stem backwards to look at his face now, but seems undaunted by this.

"You seem awfully agitated right now." It says, voice dripping with compassion. Papyrus almost gags at how sincere it sounds. "Is something bothering you, friend?"

The skeleton shoots a quick look around, making sure nobody is here to see him talking to a fucking flower, before crouching down and staring at it angrily.

"I am not your friend." He almost hisses, but the stupid thing doesn't even look hurt. Rather, its eyes shine with a deep-rooted compassion... almost pity, that makes Papyrus sick to his none-existent stomach.

He wants to destroy it so badly, just blast it all the way into oblivion... but he doesn't. Because he knows it's futile.

When the flower first popped up, weeks ago, he tried uprooting the thing numerous times, to no avail. Papyrus had thought Sans was a good dodger, but this thing was just down-right eerie.

Like it knew what he was going to do, before he even knew it himself.

And when he attacked, it somehow felt... unpleasant.

Papyrus found he couldn't quite describe the feeling. Like the entire world hiccuped. Like it stuttered for the barest of seconds. And then he would miss, even if he was certain his attack was going to hit home moments before.

It was confusing. It was unnatural.

It made Papyrus profoundly uncomfortable. And the way the golden flower just kept smiling, almost knowingly, didn't improve matters.

In the end, Papyrus had given up on trying to kill it, attempting every other method he could think of to drive it away.

He ignored it, he insulted it, he went as far as upright ask why the stupid thing didn't leave him alone.

It always came back.

So now, he tolerated it. Painful as that was.

"Gosh, Papyrus." It said quietly. "You really _are_ testy today. Did something happen?"

"Nothing happened." He grumbled, flicking one of its petals harshly. It gave a satisfying flinch, but didn't move away.

Instead, it gave a small disapproving shake of its head, leaves rustling softly. "It's not a good habit to lie, Papyrus. Do you want to talk about it?"

"It's not a good habit to spy on people." He snarls back angrily. Papyrus knew Flowey followed him around sometimes.

When he first noticed it, he was mildly irritated. Which quickly became infuriation, until it bordered on paranoia. What was that stupid weed's deal, anyway?

"I'm not spying." It looks sincerely hurt at the accusation, making Papyrus grin slightly. "I'm just looking out for a friend." And it actually winks as it says this. Gross.

"I'm not your friend!" he yells, and makes a grab for its stem. The world does the little faltering thing, and before he can blink it has ducked underground.

"You know about looking out for others, dontcha Papyrus?" It pops back up a safe distance away, continuing undeterred, as if it didn't just survive a murder attempt.

Papyrus glares daggers at it, but doesn't say anything. He gets up and starts walking again, totally intent on ignoring the flower.

But Flowey won't give up so easily. It pops up ahead of him so as to keep the one-sided conversation going.

"I know you do. I saw what happened earlier today, with your brother..." Still only icy silence in response, but he can tell Papyrus is listening by the way he tilts his skull while walking.

"It was very impressive, what you did there. But of course, _I_ knew you had it in you all along." Flowey looks almost... proud of him.

The flower keeps following him along the path. Papyrus hopes they encounter some people soon, so the weed will leave him alone.

Flowey doesn't normally show himself to others.

"Isn't it nice if you are able to protect those you care about?" There is something deeper in that statement, hidden behind an impenetrable layer of remembrance and regret.

Papyrus ignores it and turns on the flower again, face contorted in anger.

"I do not care about him." He grounds out harshly.

"What did I just say about lying, friend?"

Papyrus grits his teeth together, not bothering to correct the stupid flower on its assessment of their relationship again.

"But if you truly don't care, then... Why did you bother at all?" It's an innocent question, but Papyrus stops moving, frozen to the spot at being so directly confronted.

Because it's exactly the question he's been asking himself for the past hour or so. Because he does not have an answer.

Because it's putting doubt into a lifetime of telling himself everyone is out to get him, no one can be trusted and you can never show your back to anyone.

A lifetime of teaching himself not to get attached to others, because inadvertently they will end up either dying or betraying you, and he doesn't know which is worse.

Because in this world it's kill or be killed, a lesson which Papyrus has had to learn the hard way.

It's a steep learning curve, one that he is well acquainted with. He has seen things... done things... that even Sans does not know about.

"I'm sorry." Flowey says, eyes filled with that disgusting piteous expression again at noticing Papyrus's reaction. "It's just that..."

The flower looks at him almost hesitatingly. "I... also had a sibling once. T-they're not around anymore, because I... failed them. I just don't think you should make the same mistakes I did."

Papyrus frowns. Really? That's what this is all about? Some kind of misguided sense of kinship because this stupid flower can't deal with the dead of their weak ass family.

Fuck that shit.

"Sounds to me like they got their due." He makes sure to makes his voice especially hateful, hoping this might be the final straw to finally get this disillusioned flower off his back.

And for a moment, he almost thinks it works, when Flowey just hangs their head low and doesn't immediately respond.

Then it snaps back up as if nothing happened, petals wiggling slightly as it breaks out in a giggle.

"Golly, Papyrus, you are such a cynic. But I think you know better, dontcha? Or you will, soon. I'll be keeping an eye out."

And with that it disappears into the earth, not coming back up.

Papyrus waits a second, but when it is apparent the flower has left, he stamps the ground in barely contained frustration.

What did that freak want with him, anyway? Always preaching about the power of love and friendship, and now this?

All those years, carefully building a shield for himself, that the cruelty of their world may never touch him.

Now it has been breached... and Papyrus notices it hurts.

* * *

The door makes an almost hollow sound as he knocks on it, bone against wood.

"Knock knock."

There isn't initially an answer, so Sans tries again.

"Who's there?" The voice asks, trembling slightly.

"Nunya."

"Nunya who?"

"Nunya fucking business, lady!"

She laughs, high-pitched and slightly hysteric as always.

Sans grins, leaning his back against the door and sliding down to his butt.

The wood is cold against his back, but he ignores it, finding he lacks the energy to stand for some reason. He's really tired.

"Then why did you knock, you jerk." The woman answers, and Sans feels his smile get impossibly wider.

"I can do whatever the fuck I want."

She laughs again, before silence sets in between them. Sans leans his head back too, watching the snow covered treetops and trying to catch a glimpse of the rock ceiling somewhere above.

There are no stars in the ruins, he thinks, not even fake ones.

"What's the deal, cat got your tongue?" She asks after a few minutes, noticing his uncharacteristic quietness.

"Jokes on you, I don't have a tongue." and then, after some internal debate, he adds. "I'm just not feeling it today. Things are fucked."

"How so?" She asks.

Sans turns his head, pushing his hands down into his pockets to brace them against the freezing wind.

He doesn't want to answer. He doesn't even want to think about this, let alone say it out loud.

But this woman, whoever she is, behind the door. She is different. Sure, she is crazy and unstable, definably dangerous. But she knows what it is to care.

Sans remembers vaguely about her mentioning being present at the war, the one between humans and monsters, the one that made the underground what it is today.

She was there before their world became an underground dystopia. She remembers a time where it was live and let live.

"If you are not going to say anything, I'm just going to go. I have traps to check." She says, voice trembling with insanity.

Sans hears her scuffling footsteps dimly through the thick wood.

"I was happy today." He quickly says, before she can get too far away for his voice to carry.

She huffs loudly. "That's a good thing, isn't it?"

"Is it? I thought I had forgotten how it feels like."

She simply laughs at his dramatics. "You're such a fucking cynic. What made you happy?"

Sans hesitates again, but just those simple words already felt like they had lifted an immense weight of his heart, so he keeps going.

"I was happy, because for a moment... I thought _he_ cared." He realizes the truth of these words as he speaks them. "He doesn't, though. Nobody does." He quickly adds, but a lot less certain.

He stands up in a fit, turning around and slamming both fists against the door harshly, not caring about what she may think of that.

"Why?!" His voice has an almost desperate edge to it, getting progressively louder. "Why now?! Why does it matter if he cares about me?! I can't do this, not again."

His head hurts and his left eye burns and there is something in his memories, something about a house in the capital and hands with holes in them and Sans feel like he's choking, even though he doesn't need to breathe.

He almost thinks she has left him alone, when her voice echoes through the barrier that divides them.

"It matter if he cares about you... because you care about him."

* * *

There is an unmistakable tension in the air, like a heavy weight that hangs over the entire house and threatens to crush them both.

Neither says anything, not quite avoiding the other, but not lingering in the same room for long either.

Papyrus goes to his room early for a change, not bothering to make up some kind of excuse. Why should he, it's as much his house as it's Sans's.

He lays on his bed and stares at the ceiling, thinking about yellow flowers and the tight, uncompromising fear that gripped him when he thought Sans was going to die.

Papyrus decides he needs to reinstate his borders, and figure out where Sans fits inside them, if he does at all.

He needs to know if his brother still cares about anything.

Sans postpones sleep for as long as possible, knowing it will only bring nightmares. He hangs around the house doing nothing, picking up a dirty sock he left in the living room but promptly putting it back down.

There, he picked it up. Just like his brother asked him.

He thinks about a time when things were better and the danger of caring about somebody besides yourself.

Sans decides he needs to test his brother's borders, and his position within them.

He needs to know if his brother still cares about him.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to everybody that left a comment. You guys keep me motivated to write!


	4. This Life of Solitude

_I hear a voice say: "don't be so blind!"  
It's telling me all these things, that you would probably hide._

Am I your one and only desire?  
Am I the reason you breath, or _am I the reason you cry?_

* * *

"You're going to get yourself killed."

"What?" Papyrus jumps back and narrowly avoids getting a spear to the face. His boots grind against the ground and leave furrows in the earth as he slides back.

"I said, you are going to die if you keep this up." Undyne says, preparing another attack and launching it with lethal accuracy.

He brings up a wall of bones to deflect, feeling the sheer force of her hits thumping against his magic all the way to his heels.

"Keep what up?" He asks, even if he knows the question will probably annoy her.

He's right.

When the hits stop and he brings the wall down, she's right there in front of him.

"Don't play dumb, Paps, it doesn't become you." Her fist shoots out but he catches it easily, gloved hand gripping her similarly clad forearm. "As a matter of fact it doesn't become anyone."

She swipes her foot to trip him up, and almost manages to do so, his balance point lost when she pushes her legs against his.

But Papyrus has been here before, regaining his footing in an instant.

An instant too late, as her next blow hits him square in the chest plate and throws him backwards, toppling him over straight onto his behind.

"Not to mention, it annoys the shit out of me." Undyne bares over him, claws at her sides and a slight displeased look in her eyes. But the manic grin betrays her good mood.

"You're distracted, and it's going to get you dusted. Not to mention it makes you look like a lost puppy. Fucking pathetic!"

When she outstretches her hand towards him, it takes Papyrus a moment to actually take it, eyeing it warily instead.

And when he does take the offered appendage, he makes sure to keep his body tense. As if expecting her to start attacking again any moment.

"That's more like it." Undyne says, pulling him up and throwing a hand around his shoulder in a gesture of friendship that almost breaks his clavicle.

Papyrus grunts something none-committal, waiting for her to actually ask before spilling anything.

He might avoid the conversation all together. Also, Undyne doesn't like it when her guards talk unless spoken to.

"So, what's got your panties in a bunch, bonehead?"

Papyrus shrugs her off harshly, the unprofessional address signaling training is officially over.

"Does it fucking matter?" He asks, truly trying to gauge if she wants to hear an answer or is just being a nosy asshole.

With Undyne you never know.

"Look, I get it. You're trying to put on the tough act. I know this shit by now." She raises her hands in an almost apologetic manner. "And normally, I couldn't care less what the fuck you get up to in your off time. But..."

She approaches again, getting almost too close for comfort, but Papyrus doesn't budge an inch. Because that would be showing weakness.

"But when anybody messes with my guards, their business _becomes_ my business. And I don't play nice."

Her face is so close to his, Papyrus is pretty sure he'd be able to smell her stinking fish breath, had he the organs required to do so. He starts laughing instead.

"Is that's what this is about? You worry about the fucking dog couple? Really, Undyne, you disappoint me."

Her face scrunches up in a disapproving furrow for a few seconds, before the glint in her eyes is back (well, the one eye she still has) and her usual grimace reappears.

"Pfff, yeah, as if I care what some tight-ass like you may think." She cracks her knuckles carelessly while talking, a habit which irritates Papyrus to no end. "Seriously though, what was that all about? I have better things to do than deal with two whining bitches like them on my doorstep."

"It was nothing." Papyrus answers, just a tad too quickly. He forces his voice into a casual tone which he hopes sounds convincing. "They were out of line, I put them in their place. They should know better than to mess with my things..."

" _You're things_?" There is an obvious edge of humor to her tone. "Well, maybe you should keep a closer eye on your things, then. Or put a leash on him."

An unexpected heat rises in Papyrus's face at the mental image, but he pushes it down immediately.

"I don't tell Sans what to do. I'm not his fucking keeper." The tall skeleton crosses his arms stubbornly, but Undyne is still grinning at him.

"Whatever you say, Paps. But you do know your words and actions are not exactly matching up right now?"

He doesn't even grace that with an answer, just stares back at her defiantly.

"Look, I'm actually saying this as a friend and not as your captain, ok? Know what you get yourself into. Because if you go about this wrong, it will be the end of both of you."

There is sincerity in those words that make Papyrus advert his gaze, even if he knows he won't heed the advice.

"It's not worth it, Paps. Caring about somebody like that, is not worth it. It's not worth anything."

"Does Alphys know you think that?"

It's out before he can think about it, another testament to how distracted he is right now.

In the blink of an eye, she is on him, one fist curled in his scarf and another tight around his wrist.

It hurts, and he's dimly aware of how easily she could just snap the bone in two.

"Don't." She hisses, and he can count each one of her jagged yellow teeth as she does so. "Don't go there."

"What? You're going to tell me it's any different?" He can feel his eyes glowing red, magic swirling at the surface, but Undyne doesn't seem intimidated in the least.

"It is different. It also nearly destroyed me." Her hand tightens even more and the pain shoots up his arm unpleasantly, but he doesn't so much as flinch. "Don't make the same mistakes I did."

With a monumental effort, he pulls his arm loose, entire bone aching. Undyne releases him with a shove and a huff.

"You're the second person to say that to me lately." Papyrus remarks idly, jaw set firm.

"Oh yeah? Guess it's obvious to everyone that you're a fucking idiot." Her voice sounds almost tired.

Then she snaps back into her usual manic disposition, aggressive aura and all.

"Same time tomorrow. Don't be late or I'll snap your neck. Guardsman dismissed." She waves at him to go, and he does, not feeling like trying her patience anymore than he already has today.

When he's almost at the mouth of the cave, she calls out to him again.

"Oh, and Paps? Don't cause anymore trouble."

And the look in her eyes says more than any words ever could.

* * *

Sans is still in bed when he hears the front door open and close. He debates just staying under the covers and ignoring the world for a little while longer, but decides against it.

When he comes to the landing he looks over the railing, watching as Papyrus brushes off the snow from his armor onto the doormat, where it slowly starts melting.

His brother looks up and catches his eye, and Sans involuntarily prepares for a screaming tirade about him not being at his post.

But nothing is forthcoming.

"You're home early, Boss." He tries, and Papyrus looks away, starting to brush off snow again.

"The training was done." He says simply, before swiftly making his way into the kitchen.

Sans descends the stairs, noting it is almost noon. He slept in longer than usual, for some reason.

The sound of cutlery pulls him out of his reverie and he follows his brother into the kitchen.

He is eating the lasagna from last night, cold. The microwave has stopped working since Papyrus took it to the forest to make a human trap and the blasted thing got covered in snowfall.

Sans helps himself to the what's left in the container, eating straight out of the small plastic box.

Papyrus shoots him an irritated glance but doesn't comment.

"How's your head?" He asks suddenly, and Sans almost chokes at being addressed in such a fashion.

"It's fine." He blurts out testily, before remembering his resolutions of the previous night. "It just hurts like hell, but... It's fine. Could be worse."

Then, in an almost contemplative tone, he adds: "Could be dead."

Papyrus's fork stops just inches from his mouth. He looks at Sans for a second, then continues eating. Sans files this reaction away for later.

"What happened to your arm?" He noticed the way his brother held it from the moment he came in, rigid, preferring to keep it close to his body.

Papyrus seems surprised that he noticed at all, but doesn't hesitate when answering. "Training."

They eat in silence for a few more moment, and Sans would almost call it comfortable.

"You know Alphys, right?"

Sans startles at the suddenness of the question. His brother rarely ever asks him anything, certainly nothing of this nature.

"A-Alphys? Yeah, sure, I know her." He doesn't dare look up from the container, fearing eye contact may somehow break whatever spell it is that is causing them to have a half-way decent conversation for once.

"Do you know what's been going on between her and Und- the captain?"

"I wouldn't know, Boss." He pokes the pasta with a fork. "I mean, I don't really know her _that_ well. We're more like uh... acquaintances."

Papyrus sighs disappointingly. "Of course you are... How do you even know her at all?" His brother raises his head and they end up meeting eye sockets after all.

"I-I don't know." Sans can practically feel his own awkwardness radiating in the air. "Don't I know everyone, bro?"

Papyrus tilts his skull, then continues eating as if nothing happened. Doesn't even acknowledge Sans's choice of nickname.

* * *

Papyrus doesn't like dirty dishes, and always washes them immediately after eating. Today is no different.

Sans hurries to finish his meal, so his brother will wash the container also, otherwise he'll be forced to do it himself.

Or get yelled at again if he doesn't.

He brings the small plastic box over to the counter, throwing it down next to the sink, and sure enough Papyrus flicks it into the soapy water.

Sans almost asks his younger brother if he needs any help. He remembers very distantly a time in which it was not unusual to offer his assistance in such mundane tasks.

He doesn't ask.

Mainly because he feels like there has been enough family time for one day, better not to try his luck.

Besides, he's lazy and doesn't really want to help.

But when he turns to leave, a sudden dizziness befalls him. The world spins in an almost sickening fashion, suddenly deciding to stop being steady.

Sans pitches backwards, vision going disturbingly crossed, and he has the vivid image of breaking his skull open on their off-colored tile kitchen floor.

What a way to go out.

But his head never connects. Not with the floor at least.

There is someone at his back, breaking his fall almost gently.

It's still hard, as hard as the floor would be. Armor.

Sans feels the soft fabric of Papyrus's scarf against his upper vertebrae. He feels the hard metal against his back. He feels lanky arms encircling his rib cage and grasping his elbows.

The first thing he notices is that the hold is wet, from lukewarm water those hands had still been submerged in mere seconds before. Sans should probably thank Undyne someday for honing his brother's fast reflexes.

The second thing he notices is that the hold is bare, bone against bone. Sans has just come from bed, hasn't put on a hoodie yet, clad in nothing but his shorts and a short-sleeved T-shirt. Papyrus has taken off his gloves to do the dishes.

The third thing he notices is Papyrus's soul, so close now that he can feel it through his back. He feels the heat rising into his cheeks almost immediately, embarrassingly.

Papyrus notices it too. He pushes Sans back to his feet and distances himself from the smaller skeleton in one swift motion.

His face takes on the perfect image of disdain, though there is a notable red tinge to his cheekbones as well.

"Don't fucking do that, Sans!"

"Sorry, boss." Sans grins again, golden tooth glinting in the harsh kitchen lights. "I just saw there was work to be done here, so I thought I might as well give you the _slip._ "

* * *

He goes back to his room, seeing as Papyrus isn't going to gripe about his absence from work today, he might as well take advantage of it.

The dizziness persists, and Sans also realizes why he slept so much tonight. He might need to be a bit more careful, or the stupid wound will come back to bite him in the ass.

He lays on the mattress, dirty blankets bunched into a ball and discarded somewhere in a corner of the room. The ceiling is about as interesting as it ever was, but he tries to count the cracks to distract from the agitation in his chest cavity.

An almost uncomfortable burning has taken residence there, a feeling of unrest that insists he do something, anything to elevate it.

It is a feeling Sans recognizes, but hasn't felt in a long time.

But ignoring it certainly doesn't seem to be working.

After stubbornly trying to suppress it some more, he gives up.

His magic manifests itself almost effortlessly, as if it knows exactly what it needs to do.

And for the first time in longer than he can remember, Sans touches himself.

Slowly, languidly, sliding his hand up and down the length while trying to muffle small whines and whimpers at how sensitive he has become after going so long without.

He wonders what brought this on.

Had it really been that long since he had physical contact? Had he become that affection starved, that a simple touch could elicit such an extreme response?

Or was it more?

His soul pulses at the notion. It certainly knew exactly what it was reacting to.

And as he steadily builds up to that delicious point of no return, that edge that he will gladly throw himself off of to chase the rapidly building pleasure, Sans is thinking about his brother.

He thinks about those hands on other places than just his elbows. He thinks about them touching him all over, phalanges rubbing over his ribs and his spine.

He thinks about that voice, that almost complacent tone during lunch, the different sounds Sans could evoke.

And when he reaches his peak, still far too soon as far as Sans is concerned, it is with his younger brother's name on his tongue.

Sans feels the sins crawling down his back.

And it's the most alive he has felt in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the nice comments, they make me extremely happy!


	5. Wasting all my Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shorter chapter this week, since I had less time to write than usual. However, I'll prob be able to do two chapters over the course of next week.

_So many thoughts that I can't get out of my head_  
_I try to live without you, every time I do I feel dead_  
_I know what's best for me_  
_But I want you instead_

* * *

 

The streets of Snowdin are slightly more desolate than usual, a fact which Papyrus does register in the back of his mind, but stows away to deal with at another time.

Right now, he's too busy thinking about his own predicaments to care much about other people's problems.

Too bad other people don't quite share his sentiment. As he's making his way over to the bridge which leads out of town, towards the dense forest surrounding their settlement, he is approached by the female monster who runs the local store.

Her body language betrays a certain nervousness, not unusual for people that find themselves confronting the second in command. In this case, however, the anxiousness is overthrown by a high degree of desperation.

"Sir, I need a moment." She states, ears perking slightly, and it's the fact that it sounds more like a demand than an actual request, which makes Papyrus pause.

"What is it?" He allows, crossing his arms to show his impatience.

"I was wondering if you knew what's happening with the supply lines?" The bunny asks, adjusting her hat slightly.

The skeleton relaxes some, real surprise creeping on his face. "The supply lines? Those are not my fucking business, ask the River person."

"You think I wouldn't have tried that already?" There is actual defiance in her tone when she says this. "They're not here. Haven't been for some days now."

Papyrus sighs hard and deep, really making an effort out of it, despite the lack of lungs, just to show this woman how much he does not want to deal with this right now. "And this is my problem how exactly?"

A tiny smirk pulls up the corner of the bunny monster's mouth. "Supply lines are under Royal Guard jurisdiction... Sir."

"Right." He hums, trying not to clench his fists too obviously. Sometimes he swears the people of this town are just consorting to make his life difficult.

Sure, he understands it's just hate for authorities in general, misplaced and vented onto him as the local figure of power...

Still, he has his own shit to sort out.

"Sadly, I'm entirely too busy now." He grunts out, teeth clenched together. "I'll look into it when I find the time, but for now you'll just have to deal with it."

The monster opens her mouth to say more, but he breezes right by her, already halfway to the bridge before she can blink. "Or take it up with the captain, or whatever..."

The shopkeeper grunts something none-committal and none-pleased at his retreating back, before crossing her arms and returning back inside, leaving the streets of Snowdin bare and empty.

* * *

 

When Sans realizes what he has done, it hits him hard.

Not in a good way, not in a bad way either. It just hits him.

For somebody that has felt so depressingly empty for such a long time, he sure is in emotional turmoil right now.

He rolls out of bed, which in his case isn't much more than a dingy mattress in the corner of his room, and hits his skull hard against the wooden floorboards.

The resounding thud echoes through his head, an immediate ache setting in, centered around the crack on the top left.

Sans concentrates on it, grounds himself in the pain.

It helps him still his swirling thoughts, grasping at the strands and detangling them one by one.

With some effort he stumbles onto unsteady feet, empty eye sockets peering into the comforting darkness surrounding him.

He cares about Papyrus.

That is the first thing he realizes. The proverbial red thread connecting all other thoughts.

He cares... more than that, he craves.

Sans is not sure if it has been like this all along, and he's just been in blissful denial. If it's something slowly building ever since his brush with death. Or maybe an instant connection when their souls were in close proximity for the first time in longer than he cares to remember.

His hands grope the edge of his desk, phalanges brushing the rough surface, trying to find what he buried so long ago.

He cares. He craves. He wants... something.

Sans doesn't know anymore. All he knows is that something is changing, he needs to act while he has the chance.

He needs to do.. something?

Fuck, why couldn't things just be cut and simple for once in his miserable life.

His hands close around the key, feeling the slightly rusty texture. God, he sure hopes the lock isn't oxidized shut.

Would anything even be in there?

Well, only one way to find out...

* * *

With some effort, the puzzle does look like him now. If you look at it sideways... while squinting... and with your back towards it.

Arg, fuck it-

Papyrus stamps the snow angrily, sending a flurry of iced particles through the cold afternoon air. It makes a satisfying small cloud that settles pretty quickly.

Undyne was right, he really is distracted.

But it's not like that's his fault, its all on his stupid idiot of a brother.

First nearly getting himself dusted, pulling the poor depressed victim shtick on his ass.

Then Sans goes all weird and chummy on him.  
And now...

Ugh, why couldn't things just be simple for once.

He at least makes sure the puzzle is in operable order before he leaves it. It would be precisely his kind of luck if a stinkin human came through on the exact day that he's not functioning in optimal condition.

But when Sans fell on him... That is to say, when Sans decided it was opportune to start swooning like a damsel in distress in the middle of _his_ kitchen...

Papyrus has felt the surge of gaining EXP quite a few times now, and for some reason that feeling is the closest he comes to describing it.

A small thrill that runs through the body and shakes the core.

A surge of energy that leaves you giddy and light-headed.

His boots clank against the stone bridge harshly, the rhythm at least comforting to him.

Most disturbingly though, he finds the two feelings eerily similar in another, more disconcerting way.

They both leave you longing for more.

* * *

 Today certainly turned out to be an interesting day for returning to older habits.

Visiting the room behind their house has filled Sans with a nervous kind of energy, and he ends up not only taking a shower and putting on some fresh clothes, but even cleaning the living room a bit.

Not much, mind you. He's not that hysterical. But at least it looks less like the garbage dump now, and more like an actual room.

And who knew their couch was actually green? Sans certainly didn't.

He is fortifying the cell their rock prisoner resides in, rearranging the small wooden sticks into a stable construct once more, when Papyrus comes back home.

His brother looks marginally surprised that he is actually doing something more... productive, for a change? Then he sees the rest of the room and Sans think for a moment that it's his turn to faint now.

Papyrus's eye sockets certainly get big for a moment, as he observes their living space.

"You cleaned." He states, not really a question, but sounding slightly non-believing.

"No shit." Comes Sans's automatic response, barely suppressing a tiny grin. He kind of wants to hit himself for acting like a smart ass again, but doesn't.

Because the corner of Papyrus's mouth pulls up minutely in a smirk.

Maybe he actually thought Sans was funny for once. Maybe he just approves of the cleaning.

The older brother doesn't know.

He only knows it causes a spark of the same warmth he felt earlier, and that is all he needs.

Because it feels infinitely better than the cold emptiness from before.

* * *

Papyrus always answers his phone by the third ring, even when he's doing something else.

Multi-tasking is no problem for the great Papyrus after all.

Before he even has time to properly greet whomever is on the line, Undyne is screaming in his ear hole.

"What the fuck did I tell you about causing problems, Bonehead!"

Papyrus holds the earpiece at arms length. Not having an eardrum to shatter doesn't make her screeching any more tolerable.

"I didn't do anything!" he yells back, retracing his steps in his mind even as he does so.

Why is everybody on his case today, anyway?

"That's the problem, Paps. If I get one more whiny asshole on my doorstep telling me you sent them..."

Oh, right.

"I didn't send them, exactly..." He grumbles, rolling his eyes at the empty kitchen.

"Whatever. First those dogs, now this woman... I got enough crap to deal with as it is!"

"Like faulty supply lines."

"Yes, Paps, like fucking supply lines. Which I, by the by, was totally going to tell you about this morning before you distracted me with your whiny bullshit."

Papyrus sees that his pot of pasta has caught on fire. He quickly goes about remedying the situation, while still talking to his captain on the phone.

"Did you call me just to complain? Because I'm kind of busy here..."

He hears her unhinged manic laugh through the receiver, cracking slightly.

"I'm you're fucking boss. You don't get to be busy when I'm talking to you." He rolls his eyes again, this time at Sans, who has the audacity to stand in the doorway grinning at his irritation.

Dickhead.

"Nah, I'm just fucking with ya! I wanted to know if you still have those reports from last month."

"Of course I do." He answers. They are on his desk, sorted by date, length and relative importance.

"Bring them tomorrow." Undyne orders, after which she promptly hangs up on him.

The pot of pasta is slightly blackened, but still looks fairly edible.

The great Papyrus, professional multi-tasker.

* * *

 "Mettaton is on." Sans comments, slouching back on their couch slightly. His feet barely reach the ground when he sits like this, but he has to admit it's more comfortable than his bed.

Papyrus looks at him for a second. "You hate Mettaton."

"I do..." Sans confirms. He doesn't need to tell his brother there isn't anything else on TV. There never is.

He just slouches and waits, having put the ball in the other's court now.

It only takes a few moments before the seat besides him dips.

Papyrus crosses one leg over the other, eyes firmly on the screen instead of on him.

Sans shifts, head now resting on the armrest, feet barely touching his brother's thighs.

It's quiet and peaceful and full of potential.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A sincere thank you to everyone who commented. You guys rock my world!


	6. You will leave me in the morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, two chapters this week. One today, and one tomorrow, so be sure to be on the lookout!

_Don't wake me up,_   
_I am still dreaming._   
_The story's undone._   
_Unravel at the seams._   
_Don't wake me up,_   
_Death is misleading._   
_And when I fall asleep._   
_Sleep with your ghost._

* * *

That night, for the first time in longer than he cares to admit, Sans does not have a nightmare.

Normally, his nights are filled with darkness, flashing images and the sound of breaking machinery. He can't see anything, hands clamped around his skull in a vice like grip, the echo of pain resonating in the deepest recesses of his thoughts.

This dream is different.

Here, it is light. A red-orange glow illuminates the scene, reflected in the off-white bones of his younger brother.

Papyrus looks up at him.

Because in this memory, he is still smaller than Sans, still unscarred and open.

Tiny phalanges twist in the worn fabric just handed to them, feeling at the tears and tatters.

"Where did you get this?" Papyrus asks, and Sans hates how skeptical he sounds.

So young, yet already there is a trace of defensiveness in his speech, distrust in his stance.

"Does it matter?" Because it shouldn't. Not in their world. They should be happy with what they have to get by.

Papyrus seems to agree, clutching the scarf just a bit tighter, but hesitates. Somewhere, there lingers a trace of childish innocence that compels him to open his mouth again.

"Are they dead?" He asks, slowly starting to wrap the red cloth around his neck.

Sans nods. He knows, because he made sure to thoroughly remove all traces of dust from the garment himself, shaking it off above one of Hotland's many lava pits, watching as the small specks of monster disappeared into the fire.

Papyrus raises his head again, and he looks kind of silly like that. The scarf is way too big for him, covers half his skull, eye sockets barely peeking out above the folds. And even then there is a part of it that trails behind, like some sort of lacerated cape.

"Did you kill them?" His brother wants to knows, and inwardly Sans reels back.

He has only ever been a witness, letting other people do the dirty work, then sweeping in like a thief in the night to take what he can get away with. A scavenger, a bottom feeder.

Whatever it takes to keep alive.

"No." He states firmly, but the look Papyrus gives him fills him with trepidation. Because he can't tell if it's disappointment or relief.

This world is corrupting them. Slowly, but steadily. And Sans doesn't know where it will lead.

He reaches out to fix the scarf around his brother's neck, and Papyrus lets him, though he pouts in a way that Sans almost thinks is adorable.

"I don't need this, it's too hot." He complains.

"Not where we are headed." Sans takes his brother's hand, holds it tightly. "It's not safe here any longer."

"Where are we going?" Papyrus demands, fingers lacing together with those of his brother out of habit.

"I don't know..." Sans sighs. Because he doesn't. He just knows Hotland isn't working out for them, anymore.

His little brother looks at him worriedly, and again, Sans sees a trace of uncertainty.

"It's going to be ok." He reassures, with a gentle squeeze. "As long as we have each other, it's all going to be ok."

Sans does not know when he has become such a proficient liar.

But Papyrus smiles at him, a genuine smile, and Sans knows it's worth it.

* * *

That night, for the first time in longer than he cares to admit, Papyrus has a nightmare.

Normally, he doesn't sleep very much, and when he does, he's practically out like a light. His nights are blissfully empty of thought, one of the only times he can actually feel safe to let up on his constant state of vigilance.

This dream is different.

Here, it is light. Too light, shining white down on everything, creating a horrible contrast between his hands and the dust covering them.

They tremble, unsteady as they try to scrub the powder off.

He can't stop thinking about the sounds. The sound it made when he pierced it with his attack. How it whined, kicking and feebly trying to get away from him.

It hadn't died.

Not on the first hit, anyway.

All his resolve had left him after that initial blow, but now it just lay there, half-turned to dust yet still clinging to life somehow. The light in its eyes had already faded, but they were still wide with fear.

And so, Papyrus had struck again. And again.

It took longer than it should have, slowly chipping away at HP, every attack eliciting another pained noise from it, until it died at last.

And then the rush had come. An almost indescribable feeling of euphoria.

It felt good.

Papyrus was sick of being scared. He was sick of being hungry, sick of being cold, sick of being trod on by monsters more powerful than him.

Who did they think they were anyway?

He would show them. If he joined the royal guard, if he made his way up its ranks, he wouldn't need to fear anyone anymore.

He would be able to take care of his brother.

Sans stands in the doorway, looking at him as he methodically rubs his hands clean.

Papyrus can tell he is angry. Disappointed. Maybe even scared.

But if this is what it takes to keep them safe, to survive, then so be it.

He will keep going, leaving a trail of scattered dust in his wake if he must, for as long as it takes, ignoring the part of him that enjoyed the thrill of the kill.

He meets Sans's eyes, and for the first time ever sees hate reflected back at him. It fills his soul, mixing with the almost ecstatic feeling of having ended somebodies life, making him strangely giddy and disconnected.

Papyrus knows things will never be the same.

When he moves his fingers, he can still feel the small particles stuck between his finger joints, despite having scraped at his hands until they hurt.

Skeleton anatomy is full of small crevices, ideal for dust to get stuck in.

He will need to remember to wear gloves next time.

* * *

Sans wakes up slowly for once, consciousness creeping in gradually until he's fully aware of his surroundings.

He feels weird, warm and secure in a way that is not the norm. It takes him a few moments to realize it's because he is not lying in his bed, but rather on the old dingy sofa that occupies their living room.

His face is pressed into the cushions, and he wiggles a bit to try and get a better bearing of the situation, but finds himself unable.

Because he is trapped between the back of the seat and the body of his still sleeping brother.

The couch isn't exactly made for fitting two people like this, so Sans feels slightly mushed, but with some effort he manages to turn and face the other's sleeping form.

Papyrus is lying on his side, balancing precariously on the edge. His body has instinctively compensated by leaning forward, and Sans can feel their legs tangled together.

In the darkness of the room, illuminated only by the dim light of a barely starting day outside their living room window, he can see his brother's face strangely scrunched up, as if even in sleep he's angry at something.

Unbidden, Sans reaches forward. His fingers stop short of actually touching, the thought of what would happen if Papyrus woke up to find them in such a position making him hesitant to proceed.

Then again, it's not like their relationship can get any more fucked up than it already is.

Besides, Sans knows his younger brother is a heavy sleeper. He sometimes inwardly jokes that he could fire off a Gaster Blaster right next to that dingy old race car bed, and Papyrus wouldn't wake up.

The dubious part inside him is satisfied for once, and Sans proceeds to lightly touch his brother's face.

That blasted scar. He trails his phalanges down it, feeling the slightly sharp edges and uneven texture surrounding it.

He remembers what it felt like, the shock that he experienced when Papyrus came barreling through their front door in a flurry, clutching a hand to his face with dust seeping through his fingers.

Sans had been downright terrified. He had wanted to help, do anything, something, to elevate the pained expression on his brother's features.

But even back then, they hadn't been on the best of terms, so to speak, and the taller skeleton had simply shrugged him off with an agitated huff, locking himself inside his room for the remainder of the day.

Sans knows, because he had been sitting outside that door the entire time, trying desperately to calm down his racing thoughts.

He'd thought he was over the whole caring thing by then. He wasn't, he was worried to death instead.

And now, feeling the jagged texture beneath his fingertips, illuminated by the twilight outside their window, Sans wonders if that's what Papyrus felt those few days ago.

His brother frowns in his sleep, twitching slightly, and the small skeleton jolts back to the present, pulling back his hand.

But the younger brother doesn't wake, instead pitching forward slightly, robbing Sans of the small amount of personal space left.

Their chests are touching, and just like last time he becomes distinctly aware of the other's soul, like a physical warmth that somehow fills him entirely.

Papyrus mumbles something incoherently, subconsciously throwing an arm to lay around Sans's waist, the other appendage trapped between them at an awkward angle.

In this position, he doesn't really have a choice, besides burrowing his face into his brother's scarf, smelling the slight scent of ash still clinging to it from so long ago.

Papyrus never washes it, he realizes. He never takes it off.

Sans closes his eyes again and thinks about the smile from his dream.

* * *

The muted sunlight is streaming through their window, vivid and brightening up their living room with a brilliant shine.

It slips between his closed eye sockets, making it hard for him to fall back asleep.

He wants to though. It's been too long since Papyrus had a decent nights rest, so a few more minutes of undisturbed peace and quiet are long overdue.

But alas, the Great papyrus does not work that way. Wasting daytime is not his style, that would rather be something up his brother's alley.

Speaking of Sans.

When the tall skeleton wakes up, mind jolting to the present almost instantly, he's immediately aware of not being alone. He almost flings the figure sleeping half on top of him straight across the room.

But the ugly wallpaper and dull colored sofa he's residing upon tell him he's inside their home, and there is no way an intruder would dare trespass on their property.

So, by process of elimination, the person so liberally invading his personal space is Sans.

Papyrus takes a moment to consider how they got into this position. He remembers sitting down to watch Mettaton last night.

Evidently he had been more tired than he thought, and Sans could quite possibly fall asleep anywhere.

He tries to find it in himself to be irritated. To be bothered by their current situation.

But he can't.

Sans is clutching the red fabric of his scarf in a loose fist, face practically buried into his taller siblings neck. He's sleeping peacefully for once, features relaxed into a look of utter content.

It's been too long since Papyrus has seen that look on his brother's face.

Therefor he allows himself to indulge for once, not even bothering to remove the arm wrapped around the smaller body.

He turns his head and sees the clock on their wall, telling him it's well into the morning hours. He's going to be late for Undyne's training if he doesn't leave soon.

'1 more minute' he tells himself. '1 more minute and I'll get up.'

10 minutes later he nudges against Sans harshly, face recomposed to the cold scowl he usually wears.

"Sans... Sans! Wake up, you lazybones." He hisses, pushing against the other's rib cage in an effort to dislodge him.

His brother responds by clutching more tightly, mumbling softly. "Just 5 more minutes."

Papyrus sighs, starting to try and withdraw himself, but finding himself unable. Sans is lying on top of his other arm. "5 more seconds and you're not waking up at all."

Sans cracks his eyes open immediately, but there is an almost amused smile playing around his mouth. "Grumpy in the mornings, aren't we?"

With some effort, Papyrus does manage to pull back, at least pulling his free arm away and laying on his back, putting as much distance between them as possible with Sans still attached to him.

"Don't be an idiot..." As far as witty retorts go, it's not very adequate, but it will have to do.

Sans grins wider, but still seems to spot the agitation on his brother's face, letting go of the fabric between his fingers and sitting up, back making a cracking noise as he straightens it.

Papyrus pops his newly released arm back into its socket proper, rotating it slowly to regain feeling in it.

"We shouldn't sleep on this blasted thing anymore." He comments, starting to walk to the kitchen, but changing his mind at the last moment, heading towards the door instead.

The captain isn't renown for her patience. He goes to put on his boots, mindful to not forget the reports she requested.

"I think it's pretty comfy." Sans mentions, laying back down and stretching onto the newly acquire space. Unlike his brother, he is actually small enough to fit on it perfectly when alone.

"I bet you would." Papyrus snorts, and Sans turns toward him with a sly look.

"Really, Boss? I'm not sure if I'm more surprised that you just made a joke, or disappointed that it was a jab at my height."

"I can be funny." The younger brother answers automatically. Because really, there's nothing the Great Papyrus is not great at. It's in the name, for fucks sake.

Sans has the audacity to actually laugh at him, so he makes sure to slam the door behind him hard.

* * *

Undyne is already outside when he arrives, but he's surprised to see she's not wearing her usual armor. She looks so much smaller like this, strangely vulnerable.

But Papyrus knows that looks can be deceiving. Besides, she still towers over him at least 4 inches.

"There you are, punk." She sounds high-strung, eyes darting around slightly as if expecting a surprise attack any second.

And she should. Captain of the royal guard is a much coveted position, and can actually be won in combat.

But usually it's the second in combat who will challenge the current leader for their position, and that would be him.

Sometimes Papyrus wonders if that's why Undyne is so chummy with him. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, and all that.

But she seems too direct to do that. He couldn't imagine the captain putting up with that kind of shit. If she really thought he would be a threat to her position in such a way, he probably wouldn't be walking around anymore.

She's right though. Papyrus has no such ambitions. He's happy where he is. For now, at least...

"Give them to me." She commands, already holding out her hands the moment she saw him entering the cave mouth.

Papyrus does so, watching with a confused expression as she rifles through the documents at high speed, apparently looking for something.

Her eye scans line after line of text, narrowing as it goes. Whatever she's looking for either isn't there, or it is, and she's displeased with it.

Then, in a flurry, she tosses the entire thing over her shoulder, papers scattering all over the damp ground.

Papyrus is caught between being angry that all his hard work is going to waste or feeling concerned for his commanders sanity.

He settles for a bit of both.

Undyne grabs his arm, the grip a lot less hostile than the previous day, and there is something disconcerting in her eye.

"You! Me! Cooking lesson! Now!"

As she starts dragging him over to her house, Papyrus knows something is seriously wrong.

Undyne usually only cooks with him when she's extremely stressed out, agitated, or perturbed.

All memories of an almost secluded morning bliss fade away instantly.

In their world, there are two general truths. It's kill or be killed.

And good things can never last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you so much for all the lovely comments. be assured I read every single one of them many times over, and they feel me with joy.


	7. I'm not afraid anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How come these chapters count up to so many words, and yet I feel like nothing actaully happens in them ToT  
> Well, at least the plot is getting somewhere now.

_Merrily, we fall,_  
_Out of line, out of line._  
I'd fall anywhere with you.

_I'm by your side._

* * *

Undyne's house is pretty impressive, he has to admit. From the outside, it looks downright hostile, all jagged edges and spikes.

Papyrus wonders who even builds something like that? On the other hand, the walls are thicker than those of a regular dwelling, with a big iron door that can be bolted completely in case of emergency. Undyne certainly doesn't need to worry about anybody trying to murder her in her sleep.

"Come on." His captain beckons, digging through her fridge for the required ingredients. Fresh tomatoes, mushrooms and even some onions appear on her cupboard.

Papyrus wipes his boots before entering out of habit, slowly making his way towards her and pointedly avoiding an oddly colored tile situated around the middle of her living room.

Undyne has a terrible habit of booby trapping her own house.

She says it's less in case of an intruder, but actually meant to keep her on her toes at all times.

"If you don't get your sorry ass over here right now, I'll come and get it myself." Undyne yells at him, and Papyrus startles up from where he's still contemplating the tiles.

"Sheesh, woman." He mumbles, but makes sure to be next to her in a matter of seconds, just in case she goes through with the threat. "You have no chill."

"I don't need 'chill'." She complains, and Papyrus can practically hear the air quotes around the last word. "I need stress relief. And it's either this or going out to kill something."

A pot slams down on the counter top hard enough to crack the surface. It looks oddly artistic, with all the jagged lines of previous temper tantrums running along it.

"So...?" Papyrus ventures, leaving the unasked question lingering in the air.

"So I'm doing this." Undyne slams her fist down on the nearest vegetable, the now squashed tomato splattering red all over her. "Because apparently, killing just of for the heck of it is 'bad conduct'."

This time, Papyrus doesn't have to imagine the air quotes, because Undyne actually does them with her fingers, rolling her eyes in the process.

She continues merrily destroying vegetables as she goes, as Papyrus just stands there watching awkwardly. It are moments like these that he always wonders if his relationship with Undyne could be described as... friends?

Surely, it goes beyond any normal superior and subordinate affinity. But do monsters even do 'friendships'? He's not certain.

"Hey, get your fucking head out of your arse if you want to get in on this." Undyne comments, grin growing slightly manic as she crushes her opponents. Or in this case, her ingredients.

Papyrus blinks, then shakes his head. "You need it more than me." He says, instead calling upon his magic to summon a sharp-edged bone and starting to scrape the smashed vegetables into the pot. "You're a fucking mess."

Undyne laughs mirthlessly, eyes vacant for the tiniest of moments. " _I'm_ a mess? Pfff, yeah right!"

She has produced a bunch of uncooked noodles out of seemingly nowhere and starts violently breaking the hard sticks into tiny pieces, throwing them into the pot he's still holding as she goes.

"This is nothing, Paps. Nothing." She says. "I'll be ok. You'll be ok. It's not us that's the problem, you know."

He doesn't, grimacing at her more than a little unhelpful attitude. "What problem?"

Papyrus hasn't noticed the way she has been avoiding eye contact, until she finally catches his gaze, and he sees a slight edge of desperation pooling in their depths.

It's one of the most unsettling things he has ever seen.

"Cooking first. Then we'll talk."

* * *

What a wonderful day it would be, if Sans could get away with skipping work AND spending all his free time lounging on their living room sofa.

Alas, even with the rare, compliant mood his brother has been operating under the last few days, he knows it wouldn't do.

The great Papyrus has really high standards, after all.

So if Sans doesn't want to have a domestic run-in, he has to do at least something to keep his sibling content.

After all, wasn't it so much nicer to just be civil with each other for a change?

Sans certainly thought so.

And if forcing himself to abandon their highly comfortable, if slightly bumpy, sofa and instead do something productive for once in his life, was the price for domestic bliss, it's a sacrifice he is willing to make.

After Papyrus leaves, he burrows into the softness of the cushions, feeling the warmth where his brother just was.

It's oddly mesmerizing, how much heat a skeleton can produce.

But after a few minutes, Sans wearily forces himself to get up, knowing that if he indulges any longer, he will certainly fall back asleep.

Instead, he wanders his way into the kitchen, bare feet slapping softly against the cold tile floor. He curls his toes against it, quickly using his magic to pull the slippers he left abandoned somewhere near the sofa towards him.

The fridge is disappointingly empty, besides some containers of lasagna and an empty packet of chips.

He almost gets excited upon discovering a small bag at the back which looks like it might contain leftovers from a take-out meal he got at Grillby's a while ago.

But whatever it had been has been reduced to a full-fledged biological hazard after spending so much time in their unreliable fridge.

Sans disposes of it, cursing under his breath. Even digging through the pockets of his hoodie, has him turning out empty handed. Not even one stray mustard packet in sight.

He'll have to settle for a cup of coffee then, again not lucky enough to find sugar or milk in their kitchen.

He discovers the reason easily enough. There's a shopping list on the cupboard, hastily scrawled in his brother's less than neat handwriting. Evidently, with all the going-ons of the last few days, Papyrus had forgotten all about it.

Sans scans the lists content quickly, before pocketing it deliberately.

He's going to try and be more pro-active, right? Getting the groceries should be a good start.

He draws up his hood before leaving, at least somewhat covering up his newly gained cracks.

While the wound has definably stopped hurting, Sans thinks it will just draw more unwanted attention to himself. It might be a better idea to cover it up for the time being, at least while outside.

There is a slight draft today, meaning there must be a full on gale on the surface. Sans looks up, but the ceiling is too high up for him to actually tell where the wind is coming from.

Somewhere up there, there must be a window to the outside world. A crack in the earths crust.

While walking, he wonders if anybody has ever tried to reach it. Not that there would be any use to it, the barrier would stop any escape attempt anyway.

Despite the breeze, the streets of Snowdin aren't empty today. There's no snowfall, the ice underfoot has been trodden down to a comfortable, if somewhat slippery, surface.

All in all, a pleasant day.

But upon reaching the store, Sans can sense an oppressive mood among the few people milling around in front of it.

A few of the monsters turn upon his arrival, and regard him with a look that is almost hostile. It makes him falter for a second, but he pushes on, pulling the hood forward even more out of instinct.

Opening the door, he is immediately assaulted by the a myriad of different smells, not all of them entirely pleasant. The only light source is bright and orange, something which always irritates Sans to no end and makes him scrunch up his eye sockets.

Right, this is why he usually leaves the shopping to Papyrus.

"Look, miss. It sucks for your brats, but that's not my problem." The shopkeeper is saying, crossing her arms in front of her.

A mouse-type monster Sans vaguely recalls seeing around town responds in a high, squeaky tone.

"B-But... How are we going to-"

"Not. My. Problem." The shopkeeper repeats, putting extra emphasis on every word, but her tone softens when she continues. "I'm sorry, I really am. But there's nothing I can do right now."

The mouse monster nods, trembling in what Sans can only guess are barely suppressed sobs. She turns and leaves, not even lifting her head from where she's staring at her feet, defeated.

Sans watches her go, growing unease building in his gut. The bunny behind the counter breaks out her customer-satisfying grin for him, but it lacks it's usual gusto.

"Damn, you look like shit." He comments, the weary lines under her eyes not concealed at all by her lackluster attempt at a smile.

"Thanks. Right back at ya." The lady answers, grin slightly more sincere now. Sans likes her, she doesn't do nonsense.

"How about you do your fucking job and get me some-" He starts, fishing in a pocket for the crumpled up piece of paper.

But she doesn't even let him finish the sentence. "I'm out."

"I haven't even told you what I wanted yet." his hands finds the list, flattening it out on the counter between them.

"And I'm telling you I'm out. I don't have anything for sale anymore."

Sans looks her straight in the eyes, totally incredulous by now. Then his gaze flicks beyond her shoulder. "And those are just for display purposes I take it."

The bunny turns her head. While the racks behind her are undoubtedly emptier than they should be, there is still a decent amount of items on display.

"As a matter of fact, they are." she shrugs her shoulders, beaded necklace making faint noises as she does so. "Or, you know. For me and mine, in a pinch."

"Right..." Sans curls his hands into his pockets, frowning. The shopkeeper mistakes his expression for one of desperation, because she quickly leans forward over her counter.

Her next statement is done in a whisper, despite the fact that she and Sans are alone in the store.

"Though, I guess I can cut you a deal." Her eyes are basically sparkling with mischief, but Sans decides to take the bait, tilting his head.

"What kind of deal...?"

"That depends." The woman lilts. "What kind of money do you have?"

Sans scoffs at her lame attempt to negotiate, shaking his head in disapproval.

"Save it, Lady. I'll go spend it elsewhere." And he would.

Sans knows all about the black market business to be done in Waterfall.

Still, the situation worries him. If the stores are having problems providing, it's most likely connected to the supply lines, and they are controlled by monsters higher up the proverbial (and literal) food chain.

Monsters can last without food, at least for a little while, even if it's vital for generating magic in the long run. But hunger will make them antsy. More prone to violence and stupidity.

"Relax..." She says, pulling him out of his troubled thoughts. "I was just joking... mostly."

She makes a dismissive hand gesture, winking in a way that seems genuinely friendly for a change.

"There will be new supplies coming later today. The captain promised me..."

Sans nods, but refrains from feeling relief just yet. He has the sickening feeling things won't be that easy.

* * *

"This looks ok, right?" Undyne asks dubiously.

There is a pitch-black smoke rising out of the pot, hanging heavy against the ceiling and filling the entire house with a foul-smelling odor.

Papyrus looks into the disaster, one mass of churning crap. "Sure, it looks fine."

But Undyne curses, throwing the entire thing through her window with a defeated sigh. "Don't be a fucking suck-up. This is bullshit."

They are silent until the sound of shattering glass settles, the captain tapping her hands on the table lightly.

Papyrus stays quiet too. He admits their combined cooking attempts sometimes turn out... less than savory results. But this was a total catastrophe.

Undyne is acting highly agitated, and he finds himself dimly grateful they didn't train after all.

'Accidental death by overzealous commander' wouldn't look very good on his memorial.

"Look." The captain suddenly pipes up, and Papyrus immediately turns towards her, hoping she will finally get to the heart of the matter. "I'm going to level with you..."

He gives a tight nod when she doesn't immediately continue, prompting her to go on.

"Things are... not going very well up there." Undyne sinks into her chair, gripping the tabletop until her fingers turn pale.

"The surface?" He blurts automatically, but knows he's wrong before the sound has died out.

"Not the fucking surface, bonehead." Undyne rolls her eyes. "I'm talking chain of command here."

There is a breeze coming in through the window, sharp cold signaling its origin as Snowdin. Papyrus wonders what Sans is doing right now.

"Things aren't going exactly spiffy. New home is dealing with some overpopulation issues right now, resources aren't coming in as fluidly as they should be..." Undyne trails of as she digs her nails into the table harder. "It's just not good."

Papyrus finally sits down too, feeling the oppressive mood in the air. He can't remember ever seeing his captain... worried, before.

"What about the king?" He asks, watching her face scrunch up in annoyance.

"You know him. The old bastard tries to keep a straight face, but I know it bothers him. His own people dying right underneath his nose." She kept her eyes trained on her own hands the entire conversation, but now raises them to meet his empty sockets.

"We need to get out, Paps." She says, and the smile playing around her lips is slightly deranged, revealing sharp yellow incisors.

The skeleton is taken aback, gloved hands coming up to brush of some invisible dust on the tabletop, just to occupy them.

"I know." He says.

But his commander laughs at him, shaking her head, blood-red hair tossing carelessly.

"You know fuck-all! Things are going to get worse. We need that human soul NOW. We needed it yesterday."

Her eyes dart around her house, as if there could be some hidden threat hiding in the corners. Then she bends forward, voice low in an almost whisper.

"Look, I'm only telling you this because I know you can keep your fucking mouth shut. Alphys has been... working on something. It was meant as some kind of last resort, but- It's not working out."

"Wait, what?" He interrupts, because what the hell is she going on about now.

"I don't know the details, I'm not a fucking scientist, ok? I just know that maybe, possibly, you should be prepared to... you know... cut you losses and get out."

Papyrus just sits there, mouth slightly agape, not knowing how to respond. Maybe he would, if he had any idea what Undyne was actually going on about, but right now he is just confused.

"I don't-" He begins, but trails of into silence instead.

The captain hunches her shoulders, and when she talks again, there is actually a trace of compassion in her voice that Papyrus is unaccustomed to hearing from anyone.

"All I'm saying is... this might not be the best time to start forming-" Her eyes dart around again, as if the words she's looking for are hanging in the air between them. "emotional dependencies."

And suddenly it hits him.

"This is about Sans again, isn't it." Papyrus asks, voice getting slightly louder than it has to.

"He's going to end up being a liability, Paps. I've been talking about it with-"

The skeleton gets up angrily, chair legs screeching over the tiles with an unpleasant sound. "That's none of your fucking business! I'm handling it!"

"Are you? Because shit is going to hit the fan and all I can see is you developing a serious Achilles heel, without even realizing it yourself."

"I. Am. Handling. It." He sneers, but even with the clipped way he's speaking, he sounds a lot less certain than he wants to.

Because maybe he doesn't like to see his brother so downtrodden all the time. Maybe he doesn't dislike the jokes quite as much as he tells himself.

Maybe he doesn't want Sans to die.

That doesn't mean he's allowing his brother to become a soft spot. The Great Papyrus doesn't do weaknesses.

Undyne stares at him, the tension draining from her body as she shrugs her shoulders.

"Alright, whatever..." She concedes after a second, and Papyrus can't read the expression on her face anymore.

* * *

In the end, Sans does get the food they need to fill their fridge again, just from less savory channels than his brother usually prefers.

Beggars can't be choosers, as they say, and for the small skeleton himself it was actually not too bad to be out and about again.

His morose disposition had made it hard for him to go out anymore, the amount of strange faces at the waterfall dumps had been palpable proof of how long he had been preoccupied with his own misery, but it felt good to be back.

Some people, he knew from long ago, before even coming to Snowdin, and they all greeted him jovially enough, even inquiring if he was coming back to sell hotdogs again anytime soon.

Sans grinned at them, promising he would look into it, but secretly thinking they wouldn't be so excited if they knew what was actually in the sausages.

Back home, he dumps the groceries out on the table, telling himself he will put them away later.

First, he deserves a nap.

The sound of the door opening wakes him a few hours later, cracking his eyes to watch his brother stroll in.

Papyrus goes right past him into their kitchen, not bothering to take his boots off or acknowledging Sans in any way.

He comes back a second later, frowning at Sans, who sits up on the couch.

"You did the groceries." Papyrus says, and it's more a statement of disbelieve than an actual question.

"I don't fancy starving to death, Boss." Sans jokes, but when his brother's face stays impassive, he nods. "I did the groceries."

"Good."

Sans realizes that's as much thanks as he's going to get, because his brother quickly returns to the kitchen and he can hear the sound of cupboards slamming.

He gets up from the couch, observing his brother putting away the groceries as he stands in the doorway.

"It was kind of a hassle to get at them though." The older brother ventures, trying to keep his voice as nonchalant as possible. "Something about unstable supply lines..."

His brother hums the affirmative, frowning hard at the packs of noodles Sans got for them. He didn't know which ones Papyrus usually bought, so he got the cheapest kind.

"Is this going to be a problem?" Sans presses, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically inside the pockets of his hoodie.

Papyrus doesn't answer immediately, still staring at the pasta in his hand, but not really seeing it at all. Then he looks at Sans unexpectedly.

"Not for us." He says, voice firm, not leaving any room for dispute.

Sans is happy the taller skeleton turns away right after saying it too, because he can feel his face get strangely warmer at the use of that word.

Plural, huh?

He can get used to that.

"Ugh! You can put these away yourself. These are fucking disgusting." Papyrus is saying, pulling out the few handfuls of mustard packets at the bottom of the bag and throwing them on the table carelessly.

"Hey, be careful." Sans starts shoving them into the pockets of his hoodie, ignoring his brother's almost horrified expression. "I _mustard_ up a lot of gold to get these."

Papyrus stares at him, and he stares back, neither speaking nor moving for a moment.

Then, his brother groans, slamming a hand against his head in exasperation. "That's fucking terrible, Sans."

Papyrus turns to occupy himself with the fridge again, but not before Sans catches a glimpse of a tiny smirk on the other's face.

He can get used to that too.


	8. Dying to catch my Breath

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anybody else getting their ass kicked by finals the way I am? Well, if so, I wish you all the best of luck.
> 
> It robs me of a lot of time to write, so i'm kind of dissapointed in the lenght of this chapter. On the other hand, it's a pivotal moment in the bro's relationship, so I guess it's ok as a stand alone.

_Don't tear me down, for all I need._  
_Make my heart a better place._  
_Give me something I can believe._

* * *

"You should come with me on patrol." Papyrus says, hands fiddling with the clasps on his booth.

Sans turns his head, watching him from the corner of his eye, and for a moment, the taller skeleton is sure his brother will refuse the request.

"Sure, Boss." He says instead, and Papyrus raises a brow at the nickname.

It had started as an almost mocking remark, after he had risen so fluidly in the ranks of the royal guard, while his unambitious older brother was more than content with an unassuming sentry position. This technically made Papyrus his direct superior.

But Sans has a horrible tendency of not calling people by their full names, the title had stuck. Papyrus had always felt like there was an edge of jest to it.

Of course, it was better than 'bro' (a horrible reminder for the younger skeleton that yes, he is related to such a weak being).

Except that now, it sounded more sincere. Like Sans really looked up to him for instructions or charge.

"Why, though?"

Ah yes, there was the Sans he knew. Papyrus rolls his eyes slightly, straightening out again, and noticing with secret pleasure that his brother is standing at the door even while asking.

The question was more a matter of principle, it seems.

"Because I say so." He clicks his jaw, a habit he developed recently whenever he has to keep himself from saying what he truly means.

Because saying 'I want to spend time together' sounds gag-worthily sappy and 'I want to keep an eye on you' sounds a tad creepy.

He hopes Sans doesn't notice.

Apparently he doesn't, or maybe he does and he's just acting oblivious, because the smaller skeleton pulls the door open and makes a tiny hand gesture.

"After you, sir." He grins, and this time Papyrus knows he _is_ being derogatory.

He makes his way over, but doesn't actually pass through the door, making Sans throw him a confused look.

When it sinks in why his brother is just standing there, Sans laughs under his breath, leading the way down the few steps at the front of their home.

The Great Papyrus is too smart to show his back to anybody.

* * *

The snow is deep enough to reach Sans' ankles, spilling slightly over the edges of his sneakers and soaking the socks he's wearing. Luckily skeletons can't feel the cold.

He watches as Papyrus locks the door tightly behind them, a worthless gesture as far as the small skeleton is concerned.

If somebody really wanted to nab their stuff, they'd break a window. Or if it was a personal vendetta, burn the entire house to the ground.

Then again, this hypothetical person would probably try to do that while they were sleeping. Kill two birds with one stone.

Or in this case, two skeletons with one fire.

Sans grins hard at his own joke, making a mental note to go by the door in the forest again soon so he can actually tell it to somebody. The crazy lady is probably wondering what happened to him, anyway. Last time they talked, he was having a slight existential crisis.

"What are you grinning at now?"

An automatic denial almost slips past his none-existent lips. Answering 'nothing' whenever his brother questions his motives is a defensive habit he gained over time.

But it gets stuck in his throat, remembering the almost grudging grin he had pulled out of the tall skeleton earlier. Maybe...

"I'm just admiring the Great Papyrus' amazing anti-intruder system... a locked door." The sarcasm that seeps into his voice is easy. Meant to give an edge to the joke, but not come across as a slight to his brother's efforts.

Papyrus doesn't crack a smile... but he doesn't get mad either.

He stares at the door for a second, before turning to Sans with an odd expression.

"What would you suggest, then?"

Sans rocks back and forth on the heels of his sneakers, nervously, still not used to Papyrus looking at him like that.

Not scornful. Not hateful. Not like Sans is just garbage under his shoes.

But like he seriously wants to know his brother's thoughts.

"Sheesh, Boss, I don't fucking know." He mumbles, unaccustomed to getting to voice his opinion. "It's not like anybody can't crash through the windows if they really wanted."

His younger brother had done that very thing himself, once or twice, on rare occasions. Sans decides not to mention those occurrences.

Papyrus looks at the house again, now standing next to the small skeleton. "I'm not boarding up the windows." He says, frowning hard.

"Yeah, I didn't think I'd get you to be on _board_ with that, anyway." Sans saw the opportunity and seized it.

But Papyrus doesn't seem to hear him, slightly cocking his head as he observes their abode, then turning to start of in the direction of the forest, leaving Sans to hurry after him in an effort to catch up to his brother's much longer strides.

"I'll talk with the Captain about it." The tall skeleton says.

His pace and the wind coincide, causing his overly large scarf to billow behind him, and Sans can't help but think his bro looks pretty cool like that.

He pushes the thought away.

"What's the fuzz anyway?" He questions, giving up his efforts to catch up to the younger skeleton, opting to walk slightly behind him instead.

It allows him to walk in the path his brother is carving through the snow, making it easier on him to struggle through the snowdrifts.

And anything that enables him to minimize his efforts is a good thing in Sans' books.

"It's not like anybody is actually going to be stupid enough to try something." He huffs as an afterthought.

All jokes aside, Papyrus and himself don't need to fear a break in happening. Sans is fairly certain his brother would easily destroy anybody that tried.

Monsters are extremely territorial. They defend their possessions to the death, if need be. Especially in their world, where people are always looking to take what they can, even if it does not rightly belong to them.

"Of course not! Nobody would dare to cross the great and terrible Papyrus!" His brother says, nyeh-ing a bit for extra effect, but it almost sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

An empty boast.

Sans grins hard at his back, knowing his brother can't see it anyway. "Except if they got _really_ desperate."

He isn't even sure why he says it. Maybe the tense atmosphere in the shop is still on his mind. The slightly over-crowded nature of the black market. The higher than usual prices.

Sans isn't an idiot.

Papyrus doesn't answer, stopping and staring at the ground. Sans thinks that maybe they've reached one of the puzzles he's planning to calibrate, but the snow is suspiciously empty of traps.

"What would happen?" His brother's voice is low, quieter than his usual attention-commanding tone.

Sans stops too, still slightly behind the other. He can't see his brother's facial expression like this, but has a distinct feeling that's what Papyrus was aiming at anyway.

"What would happen when?" Sans doesn't need to ask to know what the younger skeleton is talking about, but he craves this.

This normal type of conversation. This barely concealed civilness.

Every word Papyrus speaks to him that is not an insult or disparaging remark makes him crave more.

"When they do get real desperate, Sans?" The casual use of his name is like a drug, the tone oddly reminiscent of the days before.

Days when they were still brothers.

"When they get real desperate..." Sans draws out the silence, feeling like he needs to give a proper answer. He has always been the better character judge.

Papyrus _needs_ his advice. And Sans wants to please his boss.

"They will become more reckless, risking their life to get what they want. Maybe even against better judgment. It will narrow down to survival of the fittest for real. Kill or be killed."

Because their world has not yet reached its epitome of cruelty.

But it could. It could all fall apart in a heartbeat.

And what a breathtaking collapse it would be.

The thoughts are dark and bleak, return his mind to that pitiful state of apathy he has been trying to shake the past few days. Like putting a glass over a candle, depriving it of oxygen and killing the flame of hope.

Choking.

"Don't worry, Boss." He says, and the nickname is back to tasting bitter in his mouth."You'll be more than fine. It's the weak ones that don't last."

'Like me...' He doesn't say. The subtext is abundantly clear. He brushes against the crack in his skull, sharp pain to remind himself he's not dead yet.

"Don't say things like that!" Papyrus snaps, back to being angry again. He turns around, eyes dangerously sharp. "It's not funny."

"And I'm not joking." Sans bites back, cold on the inside, yet somehow feeling ready to burst.

Why must everything always come back to this? The empty feeling of bitterness that has filled his chest cavity for ages now, slowly growing and consuming.

Normally, Sans would try and shrug it off. Harbor it inside, while keeping an impassive face for the outside world.

Now it shows clearly on his face. Papyrus takes a step towards him, but slowly. As if Sans would bolt any second now.

Not that there would be anywhere to run.

"Is it really that bad living?" his younger brother asks, and Sans has to actually think before answering.

"I'm not living. I'm just killing time."

Papyrus frowns harder, steps closer. His arms hang limply by his sides, as if he doesn't know what to do with them anymore.

They're within arms reach but neither move.

"Do you want to die?" The tall skeleton's voice is low again.

It takes Sans longer than he would like to respond, trying to organize his own thoughts, and staring at the snow at his feet.

Maybe if this question had been asked a few days ago, he would have said yes. He had been tired, spent. There had been no reason for him to get up in the mornings. No reason for anything.

And now?

There might still not be a reason. There might never be.

But at least it didn't feel as unbearable anymore just to exist.

"No." He says, still staring at the snow beneath his sneakers, and the relieve in the air around them is almost palpable.

"Good." Papyrus says, with a little smirk. "Because I won't let you."

"W-what?" Sans falters, caught off guard by the sudden shift of mood.

"I'm not going to let you die, you ass. I won't permit it." There is a gloved hand on his skull, right beside the crack, but ever so careful not to touch. He doesn't dare to raise his gaze.

"So if the worse does happen, don't do anything stupid, understood?"

Touch and tone combined end up forming a gesture that is oddly protective in nature. _Possessive._

"Whatever you say, boss." He mumbles, feeling like the heat in his face could easily melt the snow around them.

Papyrus leaves him then, the quiet bonding moment over almost as suddenly as it occurred. If Sans didn't know better, he'd think it never happened at all.

"You neither." He says quickly, loath to miss the opportunity. Papyrus looks at him over his shoulder, and he suddenly feels slightly sheepish, covering it up with a smirk of his own.

"Doing something stupid." He clarifies. "I don't want you to die, either."

The tall skeleton scoffs at him. "The great Papyrus never does anything stupid."

The fact that he's currently trying to plough through at least a foot of snow, kind of undermines the statement, but Sans doesn't mention it.

Even if the world around them starts to fall apart. Even if the air grows thinner and the fire gutters out.

Maybe they can be each others oxygen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmmmm, I think we're long overdue for some sins, guys. next chapter... ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	9. Made to break us all

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay in this chapter. Between switching meds, my grandpa being in the hospital and some serious financial issues, I didn't really have the motivation to work in this story.
> 
> I'm still not completely satisfied with this as it is, but whatever. I'm going to try and aim for weekly updates again after this!

_All we need is a little bit of momentum,_  
 _Breakdown these walls that we've built around ourselves._  
 _All we need is a little bit of inertia_ ,  
 _Breakdown and tell_.

* * *

It takes a while before either brother says another word.

Silence reigns between them as Papyrus slowly makes his way from each puzzle to the next, checking the trap mechanisms as he goes and ridding them of any excess snow or stray branches.

Sans is content to trail behind, grateful for his brother's slower than usual pace and even admiring some of his devices.

Say what you will about Papyrus. That he's boastful, immature, vain,... But seeing the things he gets up to in Snowdin forest one has to admit the tall skeleton is in the possession of a certain sly cunning.

Sans stops at a more recent addition, an electricity maze that fills the air with and odd buzzing sound. The mere fact that his brother has somehow been able to make _this_ , from the rather meager supplies at his disposal, is actually admirable.

"Sans, would you stop looking like a fucking idiot and hurry up?" Papyrus' voice breaks through his thoughts, and the small skeleton can't help but smirk.

"Sorry, boss. Just taking a look at this a- _maze_ -ing puzzle you devised." He says, relishing the gruff sound of irritation his brother makes, as his mouth corners pulled up at the compliment.

Even if it was the second time it happened in just a few days, Sans feels the little thrill in his soul return. He will never get tired of Papyrus smiling at his terrible jokes.

The tall skeleton crosses his arms, gazing ahead of them as if he doesn't want his older sibling to see his face. He is still standing there, not moving ahead despite his empty complains.

Papyrus is waiting for him.

The realization only makes the thrilling feeling worse, and Sans opens his mouth to say something else, when his brother suddenly tenses, entire frame going rigid.

With his face is still turned away, Sans is unable to see his expression, but the sudden agitation in the air is unmistakable.

It feels like the temperature has instantly dropped below the freezing point without warning, the desolate forest around them at once looking a whole lot more menacing.

Papyrus is beside him in seconds, the distance between them bridged in a heartbeat. At another time, Sans might register this, but right now his mind is too busy racing to comprehend the abrupt change in atmosphere.

"Sneaking up never did work on you, did it?" A gruff voice asks, tinged with irritation and amusement.

The crack in his head aches almost subconsciously, eyes narrowing at the dog monsters who have just arrived in the clearing.

Hostile magic hangs heavy in the air, a tension that is almost palpable and could be broken by just the slightest wrong move.

Something that smells like danger and accidents waiting to happen.

* * *

"Oh, it's just you." Papyrus forces his body to relax, arms still crossed in front of him, but in an annoyed rather than defensive manner.

Instinctively he shifts, putting himself between the two newcomers and Sans, almost completely hiding the smaller skeleton from view.

Dogaressa and Dogamy only smirk, observing the scene before them with a look of sadistic pleasure. Papyrus doesn't need to be a genius to know they are looking for trouble.

But if they want to get their asses handed to them, he'll be happy to serve.

"Didn't I tell you not to show your ugly mugs around here anymore?" He asks gruffly, skull tilting upward to look at the two opposing monsters snidely.

Dogamy growls at that, taking another step forward. They are ever so easy to anger.

"What's wrong? pissed that we disturbed your little lover's stroll?" Dogaressa suddenly pipes up, and Papyrus can feel Sans shift behind him more, but keeps his eyes trained on the royal guards in front of him.

"Fuck off!" He snarls instead, magic rising in the air, bright red illuminating his none-broken eye socket.

He doesn't want to fight them, he really doesn't. The shit storm it might cause in hindsight is enormous, and if Undyne's words are anything to go by, this isn't particularly the right time for this kind of altercation.

Sans' words come back to him then... 'if they got really desperate'.

What has Undyne told the dog couple? They were always closer to the captain than the other guards have been, a constant threat to Papyrus' own position as second in command.

But he never really thought of this as relevant before now.

Dogamy leers, gruff laughter bubbling in his throat. "That wasn't a denial, was it?"

"The great Papyrus sees no need to answer to the likes of you." It is almost a joke, bravado he doesn't really feel right now clouding his voice.

But the guards bark, angry. "Is that so? I think you've got plenty to answer for, you ass." Dogaressa flips back the hood of her dark cloak in an easy movement and steps forward, finally moving into the light. "Or maybe we'll just have some good, old payback."

Two things immediately register in Papyrus' mind then.

The dogs look a mess. Their faces littered with pale, angry scars. He had really gotten them worse than he thought, even if the attack was uncoordinated and hastily put together, mind more occupied with timing than aim when he launched it.

Secondly, and infinitely more disturbing, is the dust covering their shapes. On their faces, their hands, their weapons.

Without a doubt, something that had been alive this morning, isn't anymore.

And while the well-being of others isn't something that often crossed the skeletons mind, much more concerned with himself, and in more recent ventures his brother, it occurres as something significant now.

If he felt he had the room to spare the attention, Papyrus might be inclined to check their LV.

As it is, he will content with the familiarity of the thrill caused by gaining such heartlessness, and the want it leaves for more.

On the whole, this isn't the type of situation the second in command would relish being in.

The odds are certainly against them too, two against one, as Sans is nothing to be considered in a fight.

Papyrus will have to solve this the hard way.

* * *

The shift isn't perceptible at all.

One moment, they are standing across form each other, nothing but snow and tension between them.

The next, it's like a wire has just snapped.

Sans blinks, magic shifting as the air comes alive around him.

His fight or flight instinct fails him miserably now, body refusing to move an inch. Papyrus has summoned something and sends it flying, there is a flurry of movement and the next thing he knows, Sans is on his back in the snow.

The realization that his brother pushed him out of the way comes almost instantly, as well as the thought that moving might be a good idea right now.

He has barely made it into a seated position before Dogamy is in front of him, all snarls and razor sharp teeth.

Instinctively, Sans throws his right arm to the side, and the unfortunate canine goes flying, hitting a nearby tree trunk with a dull sound.

There is a whine to his left and Sans looks over just in time to watch Papyrus jam a sharp-edged bone straight into Dogaressa's eye socket, dust pouring out of the wound in seconds.

Still, her teeth do not dislodge from where they're buried into the tall skeleton's left ulna.

Their eyes meet and Sans can feel the gears in his head come to a screeching halt.

There is a look on his brother's face which he has never seen before, and it makes his soul simultaneously combust into giddy joy and turn absolutely frigid.

Then, something hits him and he's face down again, trying not to inhale the mouth full of snow he just acquired.

There is weight bearing down on his back and an unpleasant pressure against his spine, something sharp pressing against the edge of his skull as pain shoots through him.

He makes a sound, unable to move beneath the dog monster pinning him down, as Dogamy's hand forces his already damaged skull harder into the unforgiving ground.

There is a small noise, like the splintering of wood, and it hurts even more now, blinding.

Just when Sans think it will break, the weight is gone. Papyrus is pulling him up and snarling something into his ear hole that gets lost beneath a layer of panic.

His ulna looks broken, shattered maybe, but Dogaressa is lying motionless in the background and Dogamy is whining pitifully, covering his face, and the tall skeleton has the audacity to grin.

It takes Sans a moment to realize his younger brother is repeating his name over and over again, something like irritation slipping into his voice, so he grabs him by the shoulders roughly and tries to concentrate through the stinging in his skull.

There is cold and noises and magic and then there is nothing.

They are sitting in the middle of their living room, suddenly surrounded by a deathly quiet and Papyrus is looking about as confused as Sans felt the first time he did this.

"We uh... we need to stop doing this." He says, gesturing at his brother's ruined arm and his own skull and really they're a fucking mess right now.

The excitement in their souls is dying down and all Sans can see is that look, the worry and the protectiveness, and he feels as if he'll break down any second.

Papyrus opens his mouth, presumably to demand answers, but Sans doesn't give him the chance.

He is pressing against his brother, pushing him into the couch, and their souls are close enough to feel each others rhythm, beating way too fast for comfort.

Their teeth bump against each other awkwardly, something in the back of Sans' mind reminding him that neither has probably ever done this before.

But there is not much experience needed.

His hands are grasping Papyrus' shoulder again, the material rough against his palms, and he doesn't know what to expect.

He is waiting to be pushed away. To be snarled at and rebuked and hated and despised. To be broken.

Instead, he feels something against his back and Papyrus is pushing back, holding him as their left-over magic, high strung from the earlier fight, mingles automatically.

Skeletons can't kiss, because they don't have lips, but somehow they make due, pressed so close together their bones chafe against each other, a not entirely unpleasant feeling that send chills down their spines.

Their souls beat and it's as if he can feel Papyrus as acutely as he can feel his own being.

It is in that moment, that Sans realizes what they're doing.

His eyes snap open, not even aware that he closed them in the first place, and Papyrus is so close, so close it might just take his non-existent breath away.

He forces himself out of his brothers grip, slackened by surprise, and his face is as red as a tomato right now.

They stare at each other for barely a second and then Sans darts, like a rabbit caught in the headlights. He's half-way up the stairs before he hears his brother call after him, but even then he doesn't stop until he has slammed the door closed behind him, locking it tight.

He half expects to have Papyrus banging for him to open up in seconds, but there is no movement, no sound.

Just dead silence bearing down on what they have just done.

**Author's Note:**

> For more updates on the story, or my art/comics surrounding this story, or getting in touch with me, check my tumblr:
> 
> SFW: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/sharada-n  
> NSFW: https://www.tumblr.com/blog/skelejizz


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